


of all the stars in the sky

by thefateofivalice



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Desks, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Face-Sitting, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Freeform, Love Language, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pegging, Pregnancy, Premature Ejaculation, Rough Sex, Strap-Ons, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2020, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, every chapter is different. it's a roulette, fighting while horny is safe, let a'zaela linh say fuck, linkpearl sex, more tags to be added later, soft, ultra loving super flowery sex, vanilla sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:54:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 22,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26269078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefateofivalice/pseuds/thefateofivalice
Summary: FFXIVwrite 2020 compilation.prompts: 1, 4, 7, 12, 16, 20, 25, 26 nsfw.2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 9(?), 10, 11, 13, 14, 15, 17, 18, 19, 21, 22, 23, 24, 27, 28, 29, 30 sfw.30: the end.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Original Character(s), G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 50
Kudos: 157
Collections: Final Fantasy Write Prompt Challenge 2020





	1. Crux - nsfw

I. Crux.

nsfw.

It was the way he found himself in between the crux of her thighs every night that led him to believe he was blessed. It was her ambrosia on his tongue, making his head light and dizzy and beautifully warm. Drunk, he felt, after only a few drops. It was the way her fingers tangled in his hair to pull him closer, the rough sensation of her nails digging into his scalp that sent tingles down his spine. It was the way her voice felt like a melody in his ears, her soft moans and gasps, begging— _faster, more, please!_

G’raha Tia knew he was blessed because he had crossed time and space twice over just to be able to experience this bliss. To experience it once was a miracle, but night after night he sat, bringing her to completion with his tongue. Though his parents and tribe may not have wanted him, Azeyma clearly regarded him highly, giving him such a gift again and again.

When, and only when she lay spent on their sheets – _their sheets, not his, not hers, **theirs --**_ would he move up to her mouth, kissing her breathless. She would taste herself on his lips as she brought her legs up around his waist – of her own volition, he would never make her should she need to rest – urging him down into her.

The blessings only continued. G’raha would line himself up with her entrance and sink in, prayers and curses falling from his lips at the bliss her wet heat gave him.

 _Yes, yes, yes,_ he’d think with each thrust. This is what he’d fought so hard for. This body, this heart. The Warrior of Light and Darkness’ trust.

If it landed him here, he would do it all over again. Just to taste her. To be with her.

G'raha Tia was a blessed man, and as white sprayed across her tummy and along her chest, leaving both of them panting and flushed, he knew that he would never question his place on this Earth again. 


	2. Sway - sfw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the little things can surprise us, sometimes. 
> 
> T-rating, very soft stuff. it's about old memories and gaining new ones.

II.

Sway.

G’raha had made the fatal mistake of assuming that he knew everything there was to know about his Warrior of Light.

She was a dragoon. Graceful and fleeting, she long since captured his heart with the way she soared through the air to pierce her enemies through. She was strong, too, even without the lance. Her hands and claws could tear through flesh and shatter bones effortlessly.

Those same hands could also create. She was a goldsmith primarily, but she used all types of metalworking within her craft. He’d watched her fashion trinkets from naught but a nugget or two of silver, his eyes wide with awe. He had let her place a ring on his finger, one of her creation. A ring that had once, in his recent memory, been tarnished and dulled by hundreds of years of wear and tear. Now, it sat upon his finger once more, only five years old, aged by his sleep.

She had hundreds of things she was great at, but there were also things that she simply…couldn’t do. She was an awful singer. When he found himself humming along to old Sharlayan tunes, she would join in, off tune and incredibly silly. Half of the time, he wondered if she knew that she was doing it. She’d be mortified if so.

She also couldn’t cook. It was something they were working on together. Sandwiches were a work in process, as long as she didn’t try to toast the bread. Tea was what she was best at making, and she was very proud of it. Her eyes lit up every time he asked for a cup, and she’d rush off to the kitchen, excited once more to prove to herself that she could do it.

G’raha also knew about her fears. Fears that she would never be good enough, or that she wouldn’t be able to save everybody. He had attributed to that fear more than once. Something that he struggled yet to deal with. He always thought that she deserved better—but she always thought to remind him that he was all she could ever ask for.

What G’raha failed to realize, however, was that there were always more facets to a person than one could realize. He had read all of the books about her—Heavensward, the other, smaller tales accounting of her life—but there was only _one_ person who knew more about her than anyone.

Her brother.

“You know, Zaela,” A’sato Tia said in a matter-of-fact voice. “You should be the one dancing up there. You and Anya were the best dancers in the village. I bet you could show the younger dancers a thing or two.”

A’zaela immediately shook her head, waving him off. The rum in her glass came perilously close to spilling in her haste.

“Dear Goddess, no. I can’t dance anymore. It’s been…what, nine years? I wouldn’t be able to remember the steps even if I hadn’t hit my head.”

G’raha quirked a brow. “You used to dance?”

A’zaela pursed her lips together, but A’sato cut in, eager to get his way. “Zaela was always competing with her sister to see who would dance for Azeyma that year. Anya always won, but Zaela knew the dances, too. The tradition was kind of lost once we moved…which is sort of why I brought it up. I thought it would be nice for some of the younger dancers to see what it used to be. It’s alright if you don’t remember, though. I know you’ve lost so much already.”

Though he mellowed out by the end of his sentence, G’raha could tell A’sato was serious. A’zaela had said once or twice that her older brother was a pious man, so it made since that he would want the dance restored to it’s former glory.

With A’zaela’s amnesia, however, and her sister’s early departure from this world, there was no one to recall the old traditions. A’zaela’s fingers fumbled over her glass, her brows furrowing as she lost herself to that train of thought.

It was an hour later, and in the middle of an entirely different conversation when she asked, “Do you still have a spare dress?”

A’sato’s eyes lit up like stars in the Sagolii night.

As her brother scrambled off in search of the dress, A’zaela’s gaze flitted over to G’raha. The way her fingers clenched around her glass told him how nervous she was. As averse to public displays of affection as she was, G’raha merely brushed his shoulder up against hers, trying to bring her back to the surface.

“Are you certain?” he asked her. “You needn’t feel pressured to try.”

“No, no…” A’zaela murmured, shaking her head. “I want to. I’m just…nervous. I’ve danced it a few times. In fact, it was one of the very first things I remembered, besides my birthday. I just wanted to ask…if you would let me practice with you before I went and showed off to the rest of the dancers. I’ve tried it, but the entire dance is built around the clothing. I’m…not certain I can get the steps correctly without practicing beforehand.”

G’raha smiled. “You know I would be honored.”

Sato returned with the clothes and A’zaela donned them quickly and easily. They were light and form fitting, outfitted with ribbons and lace. A’zaela explained her reasons to A’sato before gently pulling G’raha to the side to perform the dance.

Her body was stone still for a moment before exploding into a flurry of movement.

G’raha thought he’d known everything about her. This woman, this warrior that he planned on marrying.

Yet he, for all of his knowledge, had never once known that she could _dance._

Her hips would sway, her arms and legs would kick out, snapping the ribbons tied to her ankles and wrists in the most delightful of performances. As a Seeker of the Sun himself, he fought to remember any traditions to worship Azeyma like this within his tribe but came up empty. This was wholly her, wholly the A tribe.

Before she could go and show the rest of her remaining family the dance, G’raha wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. Her chest still heaved from exertion, and the happy, tired smile on her lips was genuine.

“I never knew you could dance,” he whispered.

“We’ve still a lot to learn about one another, it seems,” she replied, bringing her hands up to his face and bringing him in for a long, deep kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me @powerwordgill on twitter if you feel so inclined. thank you for your support!


	3. Muster - sfw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if you read nothing else, read this one. this is my magnum opus. the funniest fucking thing I've ever done in my life. i can't top this. 
> 
> https://twitter.com/redditships/status/1301591326622916611  
> i got inspired by this post. how could i NOT use this. holy shit. 
> 
> sfw. mild meme. mostly fluff but mostly shitpost.

“A trampoline?” Cid asked, an incredulous look in his eyes. “You want to buy your wife—a dragoon—a trampoline?”

“ _Yes,”_ G’raha insisted, wringing his wrists. “This is deathly serious. It has to be an absolute secret! You cannot imagine how impossibly difficult it is to buy someone like her a gift—she doesn’t want for anything, Cid! Every year on our birthdays or anniversaries, she always knows just what to buy or make, and it’s always a surprise to me. I’m completely blindsided! But me, being the fool I am, cannot _begin_ to surprise her. She always knows what I’m getting weeks before I’ve even thought of what to get. But this…I believe I’ve finally got it this time.”

“G’raha,” Cid interrupted, “You realize how silly this all sounds. She can already jump. She doesn’t need a device to help her. It’s been her job for over ten years.”

“And that’s exactly why it’s perfect!” G’raha said, sounding and feeling quite like a mad scientist. “First off, she’ll never expect it. We’ve never spoken about a trampoline _specifically,_ see, but we have spoken about jumping…together. She tells wonderful stories, you see, about how it feels to jump like a dragoon. She said once offhandedly that she would love to have me feel that way as well.”

“Ahh,” Cid hummed, finally understanding. “So you want to gift her that feeling—of jumping with you.”

“Yes! Precisely! And once I thought of it, I knew I was in trouble. A’zaela and I share finances, so if I go and muster up the finances—well, she’ll know. We typically adventure together as well, so if I start taking on more odd jobs, she’ll notice. Not to mention what you’ve already pointed out. She’s a dragoon. There’s more strength in her legs than any normal person could hope to obtain; she’d break the trampoline before I even stepped on it with her. So I knew immediately that you were the man to ask—the only person in Eorzea who could make an industrial strength trampoline for my very powerful wife.”

By the grin that spread over Cid’s face, G’raha knew the answer before he said it.

“Give me a week and prepare to keep Jessie busy. It’ll be done.”

-

“Raha,” A’zaela laughed as her husband placed a blindfold loosely around her head. “What is this?”

The fact that she even had to ask sent his pulse racing. She didn’t know—she had _no idea!_

“A surprise, love,” she hummed, taking her by the hand. He led her outside of the Rising Stones, out past the Seventh Heaven, which was surprisingly quiet. Then, once they were standing outside, he whispered, “Are you ready?”

“I-I’m a bit nervous,” she admitted. “Yes, I’m ready.”

The blindfold came away, and A’zaela opened her eyes. What she saw, was…

Ridiculous.

Absolutely, completely ridiculous.

And she _loved it._

“ _How?”_ she asked, spinning around to look at him. “How in the world did you do this?”

The trampoline, which took up a good portion of Mor Dhona’s aetheryte lobby, was absurd. Clearly Ironworks designed, and catching the eye of every single adventurer in the zone. The Scions were outside as well, some snickering, most with big, eager smiles.

“Happy birthday, Zaela,” G’raha said. “Go on, try it.”

A laugh bubbled past her lips, and it was difficult to not double over with it. She was thrilled—so completely honored and flushed with the idea that after years of marriage and friendship that he could surprise her so. She grabbed his hand and tugged him along with her.

“I’ll go—but only if you go with me,” she said.

“Of course,” he replied, squeezing her hand. “Though I hope you like company. Alisaie has been eyeing it like a rabid dog.”

“The more the merrier!” she called out. Goddess help them, they could keep half of Ishgard housed on the damned thing if they needed to.

Before they scrambled atop, A’zaela pulled him close for one, long rough kiss.

“Thank you,” she said.

“This?” he asked, grinning wickedly. “This was all my pleasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mawd sent me that post and i couldn't not fucking use it. god. you cannot tell me g'raha is good at surprises. he just ISN'T. 
> 
> also this was the first time i made them married in a piece of writing. i think i wrote it like 7 times in this single piece so i think i liked it. i love them.


	4. Clinch - nsfw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> VERY nsfw 
> 
> a'zaela gets horny when she spars with him.

IV: Clinch.

It was a remarkably simple fact. A’zaela got wet when she sparred with him.

She had explained it to him a few times. When fighting a life-or-death battle, or even something simpler like a spar, there was nothing sexual about it to her. By nature, she wasn’t the type of person to _think_ about sex all that much. It was just how she was; her life wasn’t as overcomplicated by sex as it could be.

But when A’zaela and G’raha first settled into the training ring for a friendly spar, there was no avoiding it.

A’zaela got messy. And she got messy _fast._

“I don’t know,” she panted while tugging his shirt up above his head. “I just—want it. No one else is ever able to _beat_ me. And you…I want you to beat me. I _really_ want you to beat me.”

That, in turn, made G’raha fight harder.

One night, in her personal home, they grappled. There was nothing technical or smart about their spar—just raw power, raw intuition. By the end of it they were panting, struggling to keep up, and A’zaela was glowing. There was a new look to her—a different light in her eyes that he had ever seen before.

_Propriety be damned._

G’raha pushed her against the wall, chest first. His face found that sensitive crook of her neck and he went for it, marking her in the same way a beast claims its prize. His hands fumble with her pants, yanking them down just below her ass. If he were in the right state of mind, he’d take his time, he’d undress her properly—but _fuck,_ neither of them cared, and by the way she moaned and dug her nails into the wall, pushing her ass back against his groin, she was giving him all the permission he needed.

He shoved his pants down, letting his cock spring free, letting his fingers slip between her folds first—just to be _certain_ —before shoving himself inside her. Both of them let out a pained, blissful cry, the fires within them finally beginning to be quenched.

G’raha pulled back and then bottomed out _,_ propelling himself inside of her with a force he never knew he had in him. He was like a man depraved—acting as if they hadn’t shared their bodies like this over and over again in the nights before—chasing his pleasure and nothing but. His hands remained firm on her hips, fingers leaving fire and bruises in their wake as he pulled her back to meet his already brutal pace.

With one, final act of desperation, G’raha wrapped his fingers around the base of her tail and _pulled_. Not enough to hurt, just enough to—

A’zaela _screamed,_ howling in pleasure as her walls crashed down around him, bringing her to a peak so high she saw stars. G’raha finally faltered, hips stuttering and slamming against her one more time before finishing with her, his seed spilling as deep as it could.

By the end of everything, A’zaela was a mess in his arms, trembling and purring. She reached behind and placed her hand one of his that had remained on her hip. She took in a few stabilizing breaths before speaking. G’raha never once moved, letting her recover.

Meanwhile, all she said was, “ _Fuck,_ Raha.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lot of their sex is soft and flowery because a'zaela actually hates pain in any form -- but I must reiterate here that him pulling her tail did not hurt her, and she was already soaked when he, like, started to fuck her, so absolutely none of this hurt her
> 
> communication is key, but by the time something like this would happen, they know one another very well, so this really wasn't even him taking a chance. he knew 100% that if he didnt fuck her, they would both miss out
> 
> (also if she for some reason didnt want it, she would have said so. i dont write non-con, ever) 
> 
> follow me at @powerwordgill on twitter, but understand that I just got out of a surgery not even a full week ago, and most of my tweets are still unintelligible, lol


	5. Matter of Fact - sfw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pre-syrcus tower, after LoTA. a'zaela and g'raha want to climb a crystal precipice together. they talk about something important.

V. Matter of Fact. 

“You know, you are remarkably quiet for someone who calls themselves the Warrior of Light,” G’raha Tia said matter-of-factly. He lifted himself up onto the crystal precipice and glanced back behind him. “Can you lift yourself up?”

A foolish question. Before he had finished the sentence, A’zaela had pulled herself up one-handed, where it had taken him two hands and a bit of scrambling to stabilize himself.

“I never called myself the Warrior of Light,” A’zaela said softly. Always softly. She never spoke out of turn, nor did she raise her voice. Some days, G’raha wondered if he knew what she actually sounded like. Her voice was nothing more than a whisper upon the wind.

“What would you call yourself, then?” he asked. “Surely you don’t believe that amount of strength is normal. Or the feats you have accomplished. An entire castrum fell because of you, A’zaela. That isn’t something any normal adventurer could accomplish.”

“Lucky,” she responded. “I consider myself lucky.”

G’raha watched as she bent at the knees, then leapt into the air. She landed safely on one of the crystals, her drachen greaves screeching against the glassy material.

Despite being who he was—always making things into a contest—G’raha got the distinct feeling that she wasn’t showing off to him. She reached her hand down for him to grab onto, her blue eyes soft and worried. To her, this wasn’t about showing off; it was about getting to the top as safely as possible. He could understand that—but he wouldn’t mind making himself look strong in her eyes. Just a little.

But she had him beat in that area. Of course she did. He truly shouldn’t be surprised.

He took her hand.

“Lucky?” he prompted. G’raha liked hearing himself speak (or so others told him), but he wanted to hear her continue. He liked hearing A’zaela speak when he could.

She pulled him up first, and he slipped. Just a bit. A’zaela had her arms around him instantly, one hand pressed against his chest as they both straddled the small strip of crystal they were both situated on. He glanced up, meeting her gaze. His heart beat wildly in his chest.

They were close. Very, very close. No effort at all would lead to their lips touching.

She didn’t seem perturbed.

“Lucky,” she said, her voice no more than a whisper. Did she notice how his gaze dropped to her mouth to watch her speak? “I went into that castrum with many friends. We were lucky that none of us were injured. We were lucky none of us fell. We were lucky we all got to return home that night.”

Her eyes flitted away from him, moving to the top of the crystal outpost. Why had they decided to climb this, again? He could suddenly scarce remember their reasoning, but he could tell that he had something to do with it. He was always up to mischief, wasn’t he? And A’zaela—well, she probably just liked keeping him out of it. She couldn’t possibly like him enough to go up here with him _just because._

“I may have the echo,” she said solemnly, “But I don’t consider myself the Warrior of Light. I don’t share a same station as them. I never could. People like Livvy Ahtynwyb and Ashelia Riot… _they_ are Warriors of Light. To me, at least.”

“You look up to them?” he asked, bereft of other words.

A’zaela stood, putting some distance between them. Maybe he would be able to think now.

“Mhm. I look up to many people. I do not understand why people consider me a Warrior of Light, when they shine so much brighter. Strange, being looked at so highly when I see people much higher than myself.”

She glanced down at him.

“Do you still want to go to the top?” she asked, holding her hand out once more. “I think I can get us there.”

And G’raha, ever looking up to her, ever looking to the stars in her absence, took her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "ashelia riot" and "livvy ahtynwyb" are a'zaela's free company leader and the canon WoL in her timeline, in that order. 
> 
> a'zaela has a version of the echo, so she can fight primals, but i dont consider her a WoL. she's just...my WoL, if that makes sense. 
> 
> thank you for reading. follow me at @powerwordgill for more. 
> 
> i actually had a dream about this prompt. it's why it's a few days late. it was very pretty -- they were just...climbing together, and talking. I don't remember what they were actually talking about, but I remember feeling warm. I wanted to write something about their relationship before, yknow, they actually started any romance. them being friends and liking each other is far more important to me than any romance will ever be.


	6. Thief (sfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he stole more than the aethersand. 
> 
> day 6!

VI. Thief. 

“I think I’m mad at you,” A’zaela said one evening. Immediately, G’raha’s ears flicked back and he looked up at her with a twinge of fear in his eyes.

Him. Fear. The _Crystal Exarch._

“Well, I mean, surely you have many reasons to be upset with me,” he started, a slight shake to his voice. “After all, I did…trick you and lie to you. This is after stealing your allies away and leaving you stranded in Il Mheg for years—”

“G’raha,” A’zaela interrupted, exhausted. “Please. You’ve apologized for all of that. I also know you did it to save the world. I’m not mad about that. Any of it. Even leaving me in Il Mheg. You couldn’t have known.”

He fell silent. He began to rub anxiously at his wrists, wracking his mind to figure out what she could be upset about. Did he hog the blankets? Did he snore? Was the food he made for her not sufficient--?

“I keep thinking back to the day we fought Innocence,” she said. “I’m not happy that any of that happened, sure, but I’m not mad about it. What I _am_ mad about is…”

A’zaela scrunched up her nose, her irritation almost…cute. It was that reason, and that reason only, that G’raha realized he was not in any real trouble of being scolded.

She was being _playful._

“…Thief,” she grumbled. “I’m mad that you got away with it twice! The aethersand, and then the light! I _know_ you rehearsed those lines, and I’m mad about it.”

G’raha was fighting a grin. Really, he was. He had to press his lips together to try not to lose it.

“And,” A’zaela continued, her brow still furrowed, “I think what upsets me even more is that you try to convince everyone that you aren’t as dramatic as you were back when you were younger. G’raha Tia, you’re still dramatic!”

Finally, a laugh spilled from his lips. He watched as A’zaela’s face screwed up, looking as though she was trying to cover up her own laugh as well.

“Tell me, then,” G’raha said between chuckles, “What can I do to make it up to you?”

A’zaela crossed her arms over her chest, taking a moment to contemplate. The corners of her mouth still twitched upward as she thought, stifling a smile.

“I want back what you stole,” she said firmly.

G’raha’s shoulders fell a fraction. “I’ve already returned the aethersand, Zaela. Some hundred odd years ago, in fact. And the light was given back to you prematurely, I’m afraid.”

“Not that,” she said, shaking her head.

“What, then?” he asked, thinking he knew the answer. Hoping he knew the answer.

“I want my heart back,” A’zaela said gently.

G’raha smiled. Brighter than a sunrise, he smiled, his face turning a beautiful shade of red.

“I’m afraid I can’t give that back either.”


	7. nonagenarian - nsfw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this was silly.

VII.

Nonagenarian.

“Hey,” A’zaela said, tapping her fingers along his tummy. She felt a shudder run through him as he tried not to laugh, ticklish as he was.

“Hm?” G’raha asked, quirking one eye open to look over at her.

They should be trying to sleep. They had spent the last hour or more tumbling in the sheets, and G’raha was all but spent. A’zaela, insomniac that she was, had yet to be taken to the throes of sleep quite yet.

“I heard another new word from Urianger. I didn’t even know words like this existed.”

G’raha smiled despite himself. “What word?”

“Nonagenarian. That’s you, isn’t it?” she asked, poking his nose with the tip of her finger.

A laugh spilled from his mouth, short but hearty. “Close—but no. My soul is much, much older than that, if we’re keeping count.”

“I do. I want to. How old are you, Raha? When’s your birthday?”

G’raha pressed his face into the crook of her neck, slipping his hand behind her. He rolled on top of her, kissing down her body.

“It seems I’ve failed in my duty to tire you out for the evening. Allow me the honor of fixing that.”

“Well, I—oh!” A’zaela cut off as he pressed a kiss right between her legs, on top of her clit. “I—yes, but I-I still want to know your birthday--!”

“Whenever yours is,” he muttered, his tongue swiping out to claim its prize. He hasn’t celebrated his own birthday in what must be over three-hundred years, and he wasn’t even sure when it was anymore. He didn’t have a mind to consider it at the moment, either.

For now, he was content on once again slipping his fingers inside of her and curling them, all too willing to forget the bloody word _nonagenarian._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i skipped day six but I have a prompt for it. it'll come later. sorry! check back at a later date.


	8. Clamor - sfw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she's always hated crowds.

VIII. Clamor. 

It didn’t take G’raha long to figure out that A’zaela was terrified of crowds.

Which, to him, didn’t make sense at first. She was the Warrior of Light. (Or… _a_ warrior of light, as she’d once told him.) She was stronger than any of them— _they_ should be scared of _her._

But no. Loud voices had her trembling, her fur rankling. She would jerk away from shouts, raising her arms defensively, as though she hadn’t been trained to throw off predators—as though she hadn’t snapped the necks of several Garlean soldiers in her quest for liberation.

She made herself small. Small enough to where no one saw her. Then she was gone, running off to her next destination, breathing a breath of fresh air once she was finally away from everyone.

He didn’t get it at first. Tragically, it took him hundreds of years to finally understand.

-

It was a blindingly bright day in the Crystarium, as it always was, and A’zaela held a parchment of things she had to pick up from the markets. She held it so tightly, in fact, that it was crinkling in her hands.

The Exarch reached out slowly, gently touching a few crystalline fingers against the back of her hand. Wide eyes glanced up at him, and her fingers slowly unclenched the paper.

“Is something worrying you, my friend?” he asked, his voice small. _My friend._ That’s all they were, despite what his heart might want. It’s all they ever could be.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “Crowds. I don’t…really like them.”

He remembered this about her. Very well, in fact. So much so, that he couldn’t help but blurt out, “Might I ask why? ‘Tis a common affliction, but it remains shocking nonetheless that you of all people should be affected by it.”

Stupid. He shouldn’t have asked – nor did the Exarch had any right to know anything about her at all.

Yet A’zaela regarded him with kind eyes. She did not smile (he didn’t deserve her smiles), but instead turned her face to the crowd and stared out at it thoughtfully.

“Crowds never liked me. Before I had a name, they would push me around and slip things out of my pockets. Gil I was to use to get me the only meal of the day—or week. They’re loud and unforgiving things. I never liked harsh noises.”

A’zaela shook her head. “But that was years ago. Now, sometimes they part for me. I don’t believe I quite like that, either. I do not like eyes on me. But sometimes, it’s either I get trampled, or I get stared at. There is no in-between.”

Before he could reply, she seemed to realize she was rambling. A’zaela tossed a look his way, one that said _sorry,_ before heading down the stairs away from him.

And the Exarch walked after her, now more determined than ever to make sure nothing bad ever befell her in his presence.

-

He is G’raha Tia again. Today, they walk through the markets, and he slips his hand into hers. A’zaela Linh, oblivious of the clamor, smiles and reaches out to touch something pretty amongst the stalls.

G’raha buys it for her. The item is useless—a trinket, nothing more.

But that trinket represents the way her shoulders shake in a laugh even as people walk all around them. Even as marketeers hawk their wares and shouts drown out all the background noise.

It is small, but it means something to him. Her comfort is something that cannot be faked, and today he has helped her reach it.

Maybe one day, he will have the ability to slip that ring on her finger and keep it there for all eternity.


	9. Lush -sfw(?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A'zaela wasn't always the same person.

IX: Lush.

Next prompt or two will be about A’zaela’s past relationship, so no G’raha. It came to my attention that I don’t really mention the fact that she even had a past lover. Which, well…

-

The amnesia made A’zaela forget everything. Her family, her home. It erased everything for her—put her on a blank slate. When she awoke from that darkness, she didn’t even know her own name. She was too far away from her tribe for anyone to help her remember who she was. It was what started her journey to begin with.

In losing everything, she forgot something crucial—she forgot that once upon a time, she was in love.

Perhaps love isn’t the best word. The A’zaela Linh who lived in The Burn and ripped out throats with her teeth is a completely different person than the A’zaela Linh who grew into becoming a Warrior of Light.

One of them was angry. She was angry that the world seemed against her. She was angry at a father that beat her every night, and a mother who could do nothing to stop it. She was angry at the men in her tribe, vying to become Nunh while eyeing her sister, trying to make her their first match. She was angry enough to spill blood at every turn, shattering noses beneath her fists and snarling like a wild animal.

She didn’t care who she fought. She didn’t care who she killed. If her sister was harmed, Zaela of the Burn would raze the world to see her safe again.

A person like that couldn’t love in the way people expected her to. Those who she didn’t scare away wanted to help her. To _fix_ her.

But she was not broken, and no man could put her pieces back together.

In her mind, salvation would only come when her father, A’linh Nunh, lay dead at her feet.

That would not happen until long after she left, long after she hit her head, and long after she had found herself another home.

…and yet, there was one in her tribe who did not hate her. They were friends before the anger began brewing and festering in her chest. His name was T’vanoh, and they were born under the same moon. They grew up together—hunted together, played together, performed together when their traditions called for it.

T’vanoh grew up beautiful. His hair was the color of gold, spun between Nymeia’s fingers itself. The gold dripped low behind his back and was pulled into a manageable braid behind his head. His eyes, too, were the color of the sun—blessed by Azeyma herself, they called him. He was everything they wanted him to be. Strong, beautiful, and smart as a tack.

And the poor boy was hopelessly, utterly in love with A’zaela.

A’zaela, in her own way, loved him too. Her emotions were difficult things, but if she had to put a label on it back then, she might have called it love. Trust.

They were in a relationship with one another. Wrapped tight with stolen kisses and furious sex deep inside an Allagan ruin just so that he could spend one more moment inside of her before someone or something stumbled upon them. 

They couldn’t be caught. He would get in trouble. A Tia mating a Nunh’s daughter, and a Nunh’s daughter letting herself be soiled by a Tia. A’zaela would undoubtedly get beaten so hard she couldn’t walk for a week, and T’vanoh could get banished from the tribe entirely.

These are not the traditions that T’vanoh or A’zaela respected, but they were not the leaders of the tribe. That mantle fell upon A’linh Nunh, and as long as he was in charge, they would follow his rules.

Maybe she did it for that reason. Another way to rebel. Another way to fight against her father without tearing something to shreds.

(She still was, though. She was ripping T’vanoh to tiny little pieces with her claws, and would continue to do so long after she left the tribe.)

A’zaela loved T’vanoh. But she did not _love_ him.

Her love was a toxic thing, a bubble ready to burst at the first brush of wind. But neither of them knew anything better, so they fell into one another, time after time, desperate for a taste of something that wasn’t pain.

T’vanoh loved her when she went missing. He loved her for years and years, and not once did he believe that she was dead. Someone like A’zaela—they didn’t _die._ Not without leaving a body. Not without a fight.

He loved her even when he became Nunh himself. He loved her when he took other men and women to his bed.

He loved her even when she passed by him almost ten years later.

He loved her when she reached her hand out to him and said, “ _It’s nice to meet you.”_

He loves her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lush: the color of his hair. 
> 
> a'zaela's tribe doesn't follow normal conventions, so take what lore you know and throw it out, lol. 
> 
> she does eventually remember him. i may write about what happens next in tomorrow's prompt. not sure yet.


	10. Avail (sfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> to no avail.   
> (a'zaela backstory pt.2, no g'raha - will return to your scheduled ship content soon, thank you for bearing with me!)

X: Avail.

“Zaela?” T’vanoh whispered as she passed him.

How could she just walk past him?

Hearing her name, she stopped. She turned around to look at him, brows furrowing. Her lips pressed together in a soft scowl.

“A’zaela,” she corrected him. “I’m—sorry, have we met?”

A’sato stepped in between them. His eyes blazed with fury, and A’zaela took a step backward in confusion.

“She isn’t here for you,” A’sato said, his voice sharper than a shard of glass. “It’d be best if you left her alone.”

T’vanoh’s gaze darted from A’zaela to her brother. He was expecting something – a fight. For her to turn around and bend her brother’s arm behind his back for speaking for her. He expected rage to flash through her eyes, for her fingers to twitch—

A’zaela placed her hand gently on A’sato’s shoulder. The older man jumped, almost as if he and T’vanoh shared the same expectations.

“Sato,” she murmured. “I am here to reclaim lost memories. If he is a part of them, I would like to know.”

A’sato bristled, a sharpened tooth worrying into his bottom lip. A’zaela’s brother had always hated T’vanoh, their rivalry going back to when they were children. He hated T’vanoh’s relationship with his sister. Hated the praise he got from his father while A’sato was left with nothing. The animosity only grew when T’vanoh became Nunh.

It made sense that he did not want A’zaela to speak with him, but that would not stop him from doing so.

“You do not remember me?” T’vanoh asked, golden eyes locked on A’zaela. Her overbearing brother would have to wait his turn.

A’zaela paused. She kept her face neutral, but her ears wiggled anxiously on the top of her head. He could see the wheels turning in her head, and for a brief moment he thought that she might remember—

She shook her head.

“No. I’m sorry. I can only recall immediate family. Sato, Anya, and…A’linh. Though I suppose the last one is a given, considering I remember my last name.”

“I see,” T’vanoh said calmly. “I understand. Well, A’zaela. I would offer you a tour of the village, but it seems as though A’sato has that covered. If _either_ of you need anything…you needn’t hesitate to ask.”

“Of course,” A’zaela responded. “Thank you.”

With a deep bow of his head, T’vanoh turned and made his way back to his house, hearing A’sato’s mocking voice as he went. He lay himself down on his bed, letting his arm fall over his chest, hand resting gently over his heart.

“She’s alive,” he whispered into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> late on avail! sad but I've had a rough two days. :( 
> 
> if confused:   
> a'zaela, a'anya, a'linh, a'sato = all related immediately by blood (a'linh came from an A tribe, lol)  
> t'vanoh and his family came from a completely different T tribe, and merged together with a'zaela's tribe. they all kept their initial letters though. everyone in her village has their own letter depending on family, basically, because their tribe is literally just supposed to be an amalgamation of stray cats. 
> 
> my urge to love suncats vs. my violent hate for incest LOL


	11. Ultracrepidarian (sfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she roasts him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which a'zaela is passionate about ala mhigo and g'raha makes an ass of himself.  
> g'raha has; never seen gyr abania, only read about it/heard about the destruction black rose wreaked upon it, and also wants to impress his gf who has spent her entire recent memory trying to liberate ala mhigo.

XI. Ultracrepidarian. 

“Have you ever been to Ala Mhigo?” A’zaela asked, her chin cupped primly in her hands.

“Well, no, but—”

A smile erupted across her lips. “Then you can’t have an opinion on this!”

“Zaela, that isn’t fair—”

“Yes it is! How can you have an opinion on Ala Mhigo if you’ve never been to Ala Mhigo?”

G’raha was pouting. A’zaela was grinning. She already knew what he was going to say, and she knew that she had won the argument.

“Well, the books I’ve read…”

“Written by non-Ala Mhigans, no doubt—”

“All have similar themes.”

“Hmm,” she hummed, amused.

“That is a rather derisive _hmm,_ my love,” G’raha countered, leaning over the table to squint at her.

“ _Hmm,”_ she said again, just to make a point. A’zaela took in a soft breath and leaned back, analyzing him. “Tell me, Raha, what do you know about Ala Mhigo? Describe it for me. The landscapes, the people.”

He was being tested. The knowledge from his books _should_ help him ace this exam that his lover had given to him, but now he wasn’t so sure. Nevertheless, he went on, wanting to get to the bottom of this intellectual barrel.

“Well, it is widely known that Gyr Abania is filled to the brim with hills. Its main export is salt and arak, though many people work the mines, seeing as how the dusty terrain doesn’t leave much in the way of fertile soil. That’s how the royalty got powerful, presumably—the riches that filled the mines eventually filled their coffers—which, yes, I have also read that you went inside of those cellars yourself with a few others to retrieve said fortune. I feel as though I am rapidly losing this battle.”

A’zaela’s face turned serious but remained kind. She lost the edge of humor in her voice, finally willing to explain.

“For the most part, your books are right, Raha. It is good that you do your research—but it’s better that you gain this knowledge outside of that. I know you haven’t had that chance until now,” A’zaela started, trailing off. Her voice took on a hint of sadness. “But now we have no excuse. We should be out there together, helping real life people and getting you that experience so you don’t sound like…well, an ass! Don’t you agree?”

“Of course I do,” G’raha said, tail swishing behind his back.

“Then let’s go,” A’zaela said. “How soon can you be packed?”

G’raha’s tail went ramrod straight. _An adventure? Now? With her?_

“Ten minutes,” he replied.

A’zaela took his face in her hands and pecked him on the lips.

“Let’s go, then.”


	12. Tooth and Nail (nsfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> since returning to the Source, G'raha struggles to keep up with basic human needs -- eating. sleeping. cumming prematurely. 
> 
> a'zaela, god bless her heart, doesn't always need to cum to feel satisfied. she's voyeuristic. she loves making him cum.
> 
> she makes a game of it. until he feels comfortable enough to not cum prematurely should they make love, they'll build his stamina up together. 
> 
> and that's exactly what they do.

XII: Tooth and Nail

Sometimes they’d lose themselves.

Between all three of his lifetimes, it was always the same. Once G’raha touched her, he was gone. He was less human and more beast. Having sex wasn’t always a flurry of rough hands and nails digging into hips—sometimes (most of the time) they were soft. Making love just to be close. To ground him and remind him why he was here.

This time, though. This time was not like that.

His body was once again new to him. A twenty-five-year-old body with a 200-year-old soul. He was lighter, he was stronger, he was _faster._ He felt everything she did to him as if it was the very first time.

The first time they had sex, he spilled prematurely. He had rutted against her ass one too many times, then watched in shame and bliss as white covered her back.

So much white. _So much._

Yet she smiled. She turned and praised him, kissed him while breath yet passed from his lips in short pants. He was surprised at the exhaustion, the way his eyes drooped shut near immediately.

As Exarch, he’d faced similar issues. Hundreds of years of celibacy left him starved for touch in ways he didn’t even know possible—the difference is that he had near unlimited stamina. He could be hard again in the matter of minutes— _moments_ should the situation call for it.

It was not the same here. He had to deal with things like a _refractory period—_ a term he had all but forgotten about as time had gone on.

He was completely, utterly, embarrassed.

Yet A’zaela, his warrior, his light—she was never once disappointed. In fact, she’d made a game of it. When he refused to sleep, a habit brought over from the First, she would lure him to bed with naughty whispers in his ear, then undress for him before slipping onto the bed.

Then, she would place her hand on his length and stroke him to fullness. (He would already be hard. He felt very much like an adolescent those first few weeks after returning to himself—anything and everything would leave his pants stiff and his mind begging for mercy.)

That was it, though. She would finish him with her hands or her mouth, letting him spill over his own chest or in her mouth. She’d then grab a cloth, wipe him down, then settle in beside him for the night, her warmth encompassing him as he fell asleep.

There was no small amount of guilt on his part. He _wanted_ to make her cum. More than anything, he wanted the chance to worship her body and give her reprieve, to aid her with the wetness that no doubt gathered between her thighs.

Yet this was something A’zaela wouldn’t hear any complaints about.

“I like doing it,” she would hum. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Anything,” G’raha would say. He’d had his hand on her cheek, fingers curling lightly in her hair.

“Doing this is selfish,” she had whispered. “I like watching. It’s mesmerizing. It makes me feel good. More than I thought it did.”

A’zaela had pressed a kiss to the side of his face. “I know how your mind works. You worry far too much about my pleasure. You always have. When you make love to me for the first time in this body, I don’t want you to be upset with yourself for something you can’t control. Let me help you regain your lost stamina. I want our first time to be the one you remember the most. When you’re in me, I don’t want you thinking of anything else. Just _me.”_

She pressed more kisses against his jaw, then his shoulder. “Not only that, but watching you come undone is an honor. One I take great pride in. This past week has been nothing but delightful for me. When you think you’re ready, I’ll submit. Until then, though--”

“You’ll let me return the favor,” G’raha insisted. “I hear you—and you’re right. But please, Zaela. You before me. Please.”

Her eyes had widened. Those beautiful eyes that he had gotten lost in from the first moment they met his own.

(She was just like him, of course. That’s why he couldn’t stand for this game with the way she had set out the rules. He worried about her pleasure, willing to forego his own. What she didn’t realize was that she was doing the _same thing.)_

“Sit on my face,” he said, rather ineloquently. He couldn’t help it—his cock had been stiff against his stomach for far too long, and he didn’t have the mental capacity to come up with something flowery.

“I want the same honor of making you come undone,” he all but begged. “I need this practice should I make our first time unforgettable, no?”

A’zaela had puffed out a breath. A pretty blush darkened her cheeks.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I’ve never…”

G’raha had turned over on his side to look her dead on.

“I want your legs wrapped around my head so badly I can taste it. I’ve been dreaming about it for years,” he admitted. “Please.”

“Okay,” she murmured. “Okay.”

-

But that was then, and this is now. Now, A’zaela was splayed out on the bed before him, her hair a black wave behind her, contrasting sharply with the white pillows beneath her head. Her chest rose and fell quickly, and her mouth was kissed pink. Her legs were spread, and he fit himself perfectly between them, her knees on either side of his hips.

G’raha had been focused on her breasts, a dark nipple caught between his teeth when she urged him upward. He could lavish her tits in attention for hours, he decided then. Their softness tied together with the way she panted and squirmed beneath him was intoxicating, and he was all too willing to get drunk off of it.

But she was eager. The scent of her arousal filled the air, driving his senses wild. She pulled him up to meet her mouth again, and he lost himself here, too. A purr erupted from her chest, loud and wild—and that was his breaking point.

She trusted him. She _loved_ him.

He brought his hand to her thigh and urged her legs around him. She caught on immediately, doing as he wanted. His cock brushed up against her wet heat, and for all the weeks of preparation they did, nothing could have prepared him for the jolt of pleasure that wracked through him. The excitement, the joy. Despite everything, he worried he may finish early—

\--but that was exactly what she didn’t want. Not the premature, but the _worry._ G’raha tossed it to the wind the same way he had tossed her clothing across the room—like it hadn’t even mattered in the first place. It would always have led him to this moment.

In that moment, they didn’t need words. G’raha reached down and positioned himself, letting the tip enter her, finally, _finally._ He had wanted to go slow, but he didn’t stand a chance. She was ready, he was ready, and he entered her in one swift push. A’zaela gasped against his mouth, her nails digging into his shoulders. Despite the noise, her purring remained uninterrupted. 

G’raha rocked into her, letting his instincts take over. His memory kicked in, too, letting him know how to move, how to time his thrusts to leave her gasping against his throat. He moved his face down to her neck and bit down on the soft flesh. He needed to mark her—needed to leave her with a reminder of this night. Needed to let everyone know that she was his, and he was hers.

“ _Yes!”_ she breathed, so softly that only he could have heard it. He _felt_ the way her walls clenched around him, and a surge of pride ran through his chest. She was so soft. So tight. So _eager._

Her legs tightened further around him—her legs had always been the strongest part of her—even as his thrusts became wilder and more unsteady. His hand, awkward from their position, found its way between them. He pressed his thumb to her clit, ignoring the pain in his wrist. Anything for her—anything for this moment.

“Right there!” A’zaela gasped, nails digging lines into his back. Unintentional, and a bit painful—but it felt _so good._ “Don’t stop, please _don’t stop!”_

She came. Her walls clenched around him, and she threw her head back against the pillows, mouth open in a wide ‘o’. Small whispers of _“yes, yes, yes,”_ fell from her lips, and G’raha could only watch, bewitched at the sight.

He came moments after her, giving one final snap of his hips to reach her deepest point before cumming. Any noise he might have made was drowned out by her cries—a fact that made him lightheaded with joy.

A’zaela untangled her legs from behind his back, and she fell limp against the sheets. All he could do was sit and watch her come down from her high, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

When she was finally coherent, she smiled up at him—a genuine, sleepy smile that he, for the rest of his life, would never forget the look of.

G’raha leaned in and kissed her once more, only vaguely able to ignore the small bruise forming on her neck.

“Your plan worked,” he whispered against her lips. “Even should I live for another hundred years, I shall not forget this moment.”

He felt her smile against him.

It was all he could have wished for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to write porn so badly today and god help me that exactly what I did. 
> 
> someone tell me why I can write 400 words of a'zaela's backstory and be exhausted, but 1600 words of straight up porn leaves me invigorated. lmao
> 
> follow me @ powerwordgill on twitter for shenanigans, lol. 
> 
> shoutout to mawd for reminding me that a'zaela loves being bitten LMAO


	13. (fang and claw) (sfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes people don't agree.
> 
> makeup for day 13, which I didn't write anything for. this was originally tooth and nail, but I wanted to write NSFW for that, which I did. 
> 
> fang and claw is a dragoon move. this is what originally came out of tooth and nail before I switched over to something raunchy, lol.

XIII. (fang and claw)

It’s the first time G’raha realizes that fighting by her side doesn’t mean he can protect her from getting hurt.

Sometimes he believes there are two different people inside A’zaela. The first is the one he’s most acquainted with. She’s sweet and funny, though fear touches most things she does. She’s bright and vibrant, always giving back to the world what she has taken. Sometimes, he glances at her hands and thinks to himself that the scars resting there are from the goldsmithing and mining that she does instead of the battles she has taken part of. They are from the earth, scarring from the labors of repurposing it. Giving it to people who need it.

The second person inside her is the warrior. In the face of danger, A’zaela turns rigid. Her body is a weapon, one she wields with deadly accuracy. She does not know fear nor hesitation. If she fights, she fights tooth and nail (fang and claw).

She is reckless. When things are simple, and they are just two people meeting in Mor Dhona, he notices how hard she fights and how often she leaves herself open for attack. Even then, when he was forced to the sidelines to watch instead of aid her, he noticed.

Back then, she didn’t care whether she lived or died. (He realizes this now.)

As Exarch, something peculiar came about—he noticed that she gave a little bit of care toward herself. She was still a force to be reckoned with—a bigger one now, even—but she had refined her style. There is less error in her step, and she is stronger. But the reckless way of fighting never goes away. He watched as she stepped in front of Alphinaud, taking a blow for him. She spears a Sin Eater through with her lance, leaving her defenseless, all to save Alisaie from getting swiped.

During the fight in Holminister Switch, she even throws herself in front of _him._ A man she doesn’t (shouldn’t) know. Someone she shouldn’t trust, nor care for.

Yet she does it anyway, and her blood splatters across his robes.

Across his lips.

He is beside himself.

A’zaela doesn’t care. She keeps fighting. Tooth and Nail. Fang and Claw. Just as she was taught. She does not fear what Philia can do to her. Her fear is reserved for crowds and people, but battle only makes her stronger.

The Exarch tasted her blood on his lips, and it terrified him. When the Philia, he rushed to her side—

But Alphinaud was already there, healing her hurts. It was a solemn affair, with no words exchanged at all. He was used to this, the Exarch realized, and that didn’t settle well in his stomach.

Yet he had no room to talk. This whole plan of his to sacrifice his life for hers, it was the same thing, as much as it pained him to realize. So, despite the anxiety and anger roiling in his stomach, he kept quiet. He made sure she was healed, and he went to her rooms that night to reassure himself that she was safe, and then he sat with that thought for the rest of his days.

Now he was G’raha again, returned to the Source, and A’zaela had not changed. A third incarnation of himself, once again faced with similar problems.

A’zaela is still throwing herself in front of him. They were partners now, both romantically and in battle. She was still reckless, and he couldn’t stand it.

When would it all be over? When would she be able to stop fighting like every day would be her last? With teeth sinking into throats and nails coated in blood?

One day, he stops her. He can’t _stand_ it anymore. His blood is rushing through his veins, hot and terrified. He puts his hand on her shoulder and turns her around so he can get a better look at her face.

He is met with wide, innocent, blue eyes. He almost stops. Almost lets it slide.

But what if the next time she threw herself in front of him was her last?

That thought pushes him forward.

“Zaela,” he says, his voice a shaking, quivering mess. He couldn’t even pronounce one syllable without wavering.

“Raha?”

He crushes her to his chest. She lets out a surprised noise and tenses in his arms, but hesitantly returns the hug. She can tell something is off, but she doesn’t know what.

That’s the worst part about it all, he thinks. She doesn’t even know what she’s doing—she just does it. She protects her friends because that’s all she’s ever known. Her life was never worth preserving in her eyes.

But G’raha Tia had spent over two-hundred years trying to save this life of hers. He wasn’t ready to let her throw it away yet.

“You can’t keep doing this,” he whispers. “The way you fight—throwing yourself at the first sign of danger. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

A’zaela was already tense beneath him, but now her shoulders raised defensively. She pushed herself out of his hug—not roughly, just enough to look him in the eyes.

“I don’t understand,” she says.

“You terrify me,” G’raha admits. “You throw yourself at every sign of danger. I am not— _fragile,_ Zaela. You put forth so much energy into protecting me that you forget that your own body can take hurts as well. _Please.”_

Her face is stricken and pale. Her eyes dart to the ground, and she shakes her head.

“I-I’m sorry, I—I don’t know. I’ve always…It’s just how I work. What I’ve been taught…”

“I know, love,” G’raha says, placing his hands on her cheeks. “Look at me, please.”

He doesn’t speak until she looks up at him. Her eyes are glassy, and tears threaten to spill. It’s guilt he sees there, and he feels no small amount of it himself. It’s their first argument, and he can tell she isn’t taking it well.

“You are not alone,” he whispers. “You have been surrounded with people since the beginning of your adventure, but you always failed to realize that you are a part of their lives as well. What would they do if they lost you?”

Tears spill. They cascade over his fingers. He uses his thumbs to swipe them away as they come.

“…They’d continue the fight,” she murmurs. “For Ala Mhigo.”

“They’d _mourn,_ my love.”

A’zaela hiccups. Her eyes squeeze shut, and she shakes her head. A part of her doesn’t _believe_ him, though that’s the most absurd thing he’s ever heard.

“Do you truly think that anyone could pick up and continue without a second thought? Do you think you can be _replaced?”_

“Yes,” A’zaela cries. “ _Yes,_ I do--!”

G’raha kisses her. It’s all he can think to do, damn him. His mind is filled with fears and thoughts of the one person he’s loved throughout his life, and for a brief moment, he needs to stabilize himself. It’s the only way he can think to do it—reminding him that she’s not gone yet, despite his worst fears.

“Do you think _I_ could ever replace you?” he whispers once their lips part, voice rough and angry. 

She’s breathing too heavily, her breaths wet and trembling. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” she gasps, and that answer sounds like a resounding _yes_ to him.

A’zaela will continue to fight. So will he.

But they still have to learn how to fight together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may play off of this one in a future chapter so the ending is quite so sad. I don't really like writing angst with them because Bitch, I'm Already Sad. but I also want to make it known that A'zaela isn't perfect, and relationships can still have bumps. so that's why I wrote this one. 
> 
> thanks for reading!


	14. Part (sfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> morning rituals and love languages.

XIV: Part.

Though they spent many hours and days finding out new things about one another, there was one thing that took longer than most for them both to realize:

They both loved the other’s hair.

It was a strange thing for A’zaela to realize, though she was definitely the one who realized it first. On nights where she couldn’t sleep, she would let her fingers brush his hair away from his face, reveling in its softness. He would sleep through the touches, wholly exhausted, his body not yet used to being tired again. Those moments felt very small and very dear, even though it was nothing more than a passing second in time.

Of course, there was the color. The shock of red that her eyes always sought out in crowds, or the way the world felt terribly colorless when she couldn’t find it. Red had been her least favorite color before she met G’raha, for many reasons.

Red was the color of blood. It was the color of her tribe. It was the color that haunted her dreams at night when her body actually let her rest.

Funny how he swept those associations away. Now, A’zaela could see the beauty in it. It was the color of his hair, of his eyes. It was the color of sunsets and sunstones—something Azeyma had always blessed her with.

A’zaela was not meant to hate the color red, and he was the one to show her that. Even if he had done so wordlessly.

The third reason why she loved his hair was one that she herself didn’t quite understand herself. It was a memory lost to her amnesia, even today. Only the people of her village would know why—but that was no help to her, as she hardly visited.

In her specific tribe, brushing one another’s hair was _intimate._ Something reserved for family members or someone you trusted. Similar to removing one’s first letter of their name. _Zaela. Raha._ Combing through someone else’s hair shared the same intimacy, and it was something that A’zaela had completely forgotten.

Every morning when she would help him pin back his hair, she would feel something—a fluttering in her chest, a fragment of a memory—and then it would be gone once she lowered her arms. She was only left with a smile and a peculiar sense of fondness for him.

G’raha was quite similar, but not the same. He was slower to pick up on the fact that she admired his hair as much as he admired hers. In fact, he thought himself strange for it for the longest time.

It was hard to explain. It all started before they were together, when they were simply two adventurers caught in the mystery of the Crystal Tower. Even then, G’raha fancied her. She was powerful and insightful, forging the path to the future that he knew he must follow. Though he was never granted the chance at following through with his admirations at the time, admire her he certainly did.

She kept it short back then. A simple bob that kept out of her face. Practical, yet sweet. At night, she would remove the headband and shake it out, and he couldn’t help the way his gaze caught on her. Couldn’t help the way his mind wandered.

It would be soft. It _looked_ soft. The moonlight caught on her raven locks, and his mind would wander. Would she hate it if he brushed it out of her face? How would it feel against his skin, should she kiss down his chest, letting the tips brush against his stomach?

He would pull himself out of those fantasies quickly, of course. Bold as he was back then, he wouldn’t debauch her in his thoughts if he could help it. (Some nights he couldn’t.) 

When he was Exarch, her hair was long. It was safe to say this shook him to his very core.

There was a passage in a book he once read that described something important about her. One night, during her fight against Garlemald in the Far East, a soldier grabbed her by the hair and dragged her across the earth. He put his knife to her throat and _slid._

She still bore that scar. Ever a thin white line across her throat. That night, it’s said that she took the same knife that tried to kill her and chopped her hair off in a nearby river.

She had confirmed that memory for him before they ever shared a bed together.

_‘I have one rule,’ she gasped amongst kisses._

_‘Anything,’ he panted._

_‘Please—don’t pull my hair. Please.’_

And he never did.

Seeing her hair long made him realize something. In her brief time in Norvrandt, he had made A’zaela feel _free._ She let her hair grow longer and longer while she was with him, past her shoulder blades and down to the middle of her back. He thought to ask her once if she wanted to cut it, and with wide eyes, she said _no._

To think that he, and Norvrandt, (the Crystarium) made her feel happy enough— _safe_ enough to not want to cut her hair as a sense of control beggared belief. Especially after what he put her through while she was there.

That brought them to now. Now, where he had an actual relationship with her. Where every time he ran his fingers through her hair, gentle enough as to not startle her, she began to purr, loud and excited. Now, where there were mornings where she sat on the side of the bed and let him run an actual brush through her hair, allowing him to part it and put it up in her signature high ponytail. She let him do whatever he wanted—but he always chose simple. Just as she always slipped those few pins into his hair each morning to keep it out of his face.

Like I said. It took them a while to figure out that they loved one another’s hair—but once they did, they never stopped smiling over it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me @powerwordgill for shenanigans.


	15. Ache (sfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a'zaela doesn't really sleep in.

XV: Ache.

G’raha knew there was a problem when A’zaela didn't wake up one morning.

She was always the first to wake if she had actually gone to sleep that night. Typically, her insomnia kept her awake no matter how much she tired herself out, so it left him waking up her in arms while she greeted him with a sleepy smile.

Today was different, though. A’zaela was asleep when he awoke, her breathing deep and heavy. Strangely enough, she was turned away from him too.

She never did that. Even when the nights grew overly warm, she would always seek him out for comfort. Whether it be her arm over his body or her tail gently brushing against his thigh, there was always some part of her touching him. This morning, though, she was curled up in a ball, facing away from him, her tail wrapped around her front.

G’raha considered her for a moment, but ultimately decided to let her rest. The sleep she got normally was minimal, and he didn’t want to wake her if he didn’t need to. He extracted himself from bed slowly and quietly, then pulled on his clothes. He then slipped out of their room and went off to make breakfast.

Once finished, he went back to their room, a plate for her in his hand. She was still fast asleep, and a part of him was still averse to waking her. He placed the food down on the nightside table and leaned over to press a kiss against her forehead.

Her skin felt warm against his lips. Perhaps he was overthinking, though—A’zaela was warm blooded by nature. She was an especially effective partner to have during the winter—not once would G’raha have to fear the cold sleeping next to her.

He once again decided it would be best to leave her alone. If she needed to sleep, she needed to sleep—he could always warm her food up for her later with a bit of magic.

It was when noon rolled around and she still hadn’t emerged that he started to worry in earnest. A’zaela was many things, but she was not a late riser. Unable to focus on his book, G’raha made his way back to their room for the fourth time that day—only to find A’zaela still curled up, clutching her pillow against her body. She had it fully pressed up against herself, her arms and legs wrapped around it as though she was holding on for dear life.

“Zaela?” he called, shutting the door softly behind him. Her ears flicked back quickly, flattening sharply against her head. She cracked open one eye, peering at him through a small slit.

She couldn’t even muster up a reply. All she did was groan against the pillow.

“Is aught amiss, love?” he asked, making his way around the bed to her.

“’m sorry, I don’t feel…” she brought her face away from the pillow for a second before wincing, her entire face completely draining of any color.

“Can you…take the food out of here? I—Goddess, the smell—”

The food? G’raha glanced over at the plate he’d left earlier, nothing that it was left completely untouched. He didn’t think that it smelled particularly awful. He wasn’t the best chef, but he had eaten his own plate, and nothing had been off about it.

“Zaela, are you sick?” he asked, remembering how warm her forehead had been earlier. He reached out and pressed his hand against her cheek, still frustratingly unable to tell whether or not she was sick from her temperature.

“No, no, I’ll be fine, I’m just…I have my…”

G’raha wracked his mind, but he couldn’t think of anything that could cause her senses to be overloaded like this. Curled in pain? Sensitive to smell? Overly warm? He could only think about morning sickness, and—

_Morning sickness?_

G’raha felt his heart stutter to a stop. Then, his mind was racing, everything crashing around him.

_We don’t use protection. It would make sense, given that, but she always takes a contraceptive. I’ve **watched** her drink the elixir every morning. _

“…period.” A’zaela groaned. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Raha, please, I m-might throw up.”

_Period. Wicked White, she had her monthly._

“Oh! Oh, Zaela, I’m so sorry. Let me just—”

G’raha scrambled to gather up the plate and whisk it out of the room. He tucked his tail between his legs and basically ran, his face flushed as red as his hair.

_The worst part about it, was that while A’zaela was aching in bed over her period, G’raha was grappling with disappointment._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i always thought g'raha would be a good father. 
> 
> i don't think he wants to pass the allagan eye down, but... i think he likes the idea of his wife/significant other being pregnant. and having a child one day.


	16. Lucubration (nsfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> desks.

XVI: Lucubration. 

Normally, A’zaela would never even consider throwing things off of her desk. She’s far too detail oriented, too wary of ruining things. Those notes were _precious,_ and someone no doubt needed them.

But holy shit, she just _didn’t care._

G’raha had her in his arms, those _strong_ fucking arms, fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs as he supported her legs around his waist. His cock brushed up against her apex, and A’zaela’s entire being focused on that sensation. They were both clothed, and the fabric dulled the sensation—but not nearly enough. She still felt it. She still gasped into his mouth and tightened her legs around him, wanting _more, more, more._

If he even thought about taking her to the bed, she might cry.

When her ass hit the desk, she nearly cried from _relief._

G’raha reached behind her and swept _everything_ off the desk. A’zaela’s head was filled with static, and her only thought was, _Azeyma help me, I thought that only happened in romance novels._

They grabbed at one another like they were running out of time, like they only had moments to get inside one another before everything was over. A’zaela had his shirt over his head, and his fingers worked at the ties of her pants before pulling them down, down past her ankles. Her panties went with them. He tossed them both somewhere—but she was too far gone to notice where.

He kissed down her body, tongue swirling over exposed and leaving fire in his wake. He placed careful kisses over her clothed breast, teasing her through the fabric. It was infuriating, she wanted him to touch _her,_ not over her _shirt,_ but she couldn’t even manage to say that through the haze of lust. She could only whine and try to move him where she wanted him—but he had plans of his own.

His hands pushed up her shirt, and he pushed _her_ down flat on the desk. His head was between her legs in a moment, his hand cupping her breast roughly as his tongue swiped at her clit.

“Fuck!” she gasped, bucking her hips against his mouth. Her hand clapped over her mouth, appalled by her language—but he felt so good, so hot and irresistible. How could she do anything else but quiver beneath him? His fingers pinched her nipple, and a jolt of fire ran through her, her legs squeezing his head.

The Gods were teasing her, because he _laughed._ G’raha Tia had his tongue on her clit, and he was laughing at her reaction. The heat that flooded her was both from joy and love, knowing it came from a place of happiness.

Not only that, but the vibrations from his laughter felt good, too. A’zaela was in heaven. That was the only explanation for such bliss.

Normally, they would be talking. Telling one another how much they loved the other, how good they felt. Joking about how the research done at this desk paled in comparison to the research G’raha was doing right now, his lucubration of her body far more important than anything else that might have been resting there.

But no. They were already too far gone, lost to the other’s heat.

G’raha didn’t come back up until she came once, his chin wet with _her._ Then, he wrapped his hand around his cock and teased her entrance, snapping his hips against her, filling her with one thrust.

Then, it was her turn to laugh. A bead of sweat rolled down his jaw, and he opened his eyes to peek at her, a smile forming.

He laughed right along with her. He started to move, slipping in and out of her with ease, and the two of them laughed right along, only stopping when he bent over to kiss her. Even then, their kisses were filled with smiles and giggles, content with the happiness that they had made for themselves that evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> laughter during sex is sweet. 
> 
> follow me @ twitter, @powerwordgill for shenanigans 
> 
> if you like my work, consider my ko-fi. I decided I wanted to make something out of my work. not necessary--comments/kudos are more than enough for me, and I will continue to write fics for free. and of course, I have all of you to thank for me coming to this decision. thank you all so much for your support, and I hope to see you still long after ffxivwrite! 
> 
> https://ko-fi.com/powerwordgill


	17. Fade (sfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fade" reminded me of dreams.
> 
> a'zaela isn't THE WoL. hence, her branch is not feo ul (a travesty, I know). she has a special circumstance, and as such, her branch is tyr beq. but fear not, someone else has feo ul as their branch. i would never leave MY branch without somebody. they are just unmentioned here.

XVII: Fade.

The pixies were swift to figure out that A’zaela didn’t sleep. What was worse, in their eyes, is that she didn’t _want_ to. Her dreams only led to nightmares, and nightmares meant that she woke up feeling even more tired than she had been before.

Being her branch, Tyr Beq was especially upset by this revelation. They had spent so much time repairing their lovely Lyhe Mheg, and their sapling could not use it.

This led to the pixies resorting to some pranking, of course. Sure, A’zaela could enter Lyhe Mheg at will, but there was a big difference between going through while one was awake versus when they were asleep. The pranks were harmless in their intention—

But not in their execution.

The nightmares that plagued A’zaela were too much. She was not a child, and her fears were based off of things that had happened to her, not concepts. They were not something that could be fixed by the Warrior of Light’s tip of the hat.

So when A’zaela took a fistful of pixie dust to the face, she hit the ground immediately. The pixies watched as she screamed and dug at her arms, drawing blood that scattered across the flowerbeds. She clawed at her throat, her face, unintentionally harming herself. Tyr Beq panicked, feeling A’zaela’s pain as if it were their own, and tried to get a porxie to suck up her nightmare.

The porxie _refused._

With A’zaela unconscious, there was no one strong enough to take out the monster that might come from her nightmares. (What was it? What terrible thing could possibly plague her so?) The King could fight it, perhaps, but the King was off with _their_ sapling, not to mention this wasn’t supposed to be as big of a problem as it was.

So they had to wait it out. A’zaela finally stopped clawing at herself, and eventually she began weeping. Tyr Beq’s sapling, the protector of Lyhe Mheg, laid herself in a flower bed and cried until she awoke, and then all she could do was cry some more.

The pixies never tried to prank her like that again.

Time went on, however. Norvrandt was cursed of its ailments, and the night sky returned once more. Things change, as they are wont the do, and so did A’zaela.

Insomnia like hers doesn’t go away at the tip of a hat, but there were times, however infrequent, after she saved Norvrandt, where she did sleep. During those times, Tyr Beq took it upon themselves to send them _straight_ to Lyhe Mheg, where her sapling could be blessed with a night of fond dreams.

And though Tyr Beq did not quite understand love themselves, they knew that _A’zaela_ was “in love” with the Crystal Exarch. What better thing to dream about than something she loved?

It would be even better should they both dream together, wouldn’t it?

-

A’zaela’s dreams were never too complicated. Since Tyr Beq had placed her in Lyhe Mheg, she was given a sanctuary of sorts. Though a playground filled with sweets and clouds was great for the children, it was not exactly a place A’zaela herself could relax in.

So she had a small corner in the land of dreams to herself. She counted herself incredibly lucky because of it. Though she couldn’t visit often, she considered the time she spent there a good omen.

Her dream was that of a cloudless Sagolii night. A never-ending sea of sand and stars filled her vision, filling her with a calm nostalgia. There were no sandworms or enemies to fight—just dunes and stars as far as the eye could see. A gentle breeze, somehow deprived of sand, brushed against her cheek—and it was almost as if she could smell the desert. The cracked, arid air filling her lungs once more, reminding her of a simpler, but not all together easier time.

“Forgive me my intrusion,” a voice called from behind her.

She startled and whipped around, but her mind was already catching up with her ears.

The Exarch stood behind her, unhooded and looking quite sheepish. Tyr Beq floated behind him for a moment before giving a wicked grin, then blinking away.

“Ah,” A’zaela said, scratching lightly at her cheek. “No, it seems like I’m the one who should apologize. I hope I haven’t disturbed your rest. Goddess knows you get about as much as I do.”

Despite looking like he wanted to, G’raha did not argue. Instead, he lifted his staff and made his way over to her, stopping by her side. He lifted his head to gaze up at the stars, quiet as he lost himself in thought.

“I always thought the night sky in Mor Dhona was the most stunning sight I could see,” he murmured, red eyes reflecting the night sky with their starriness. “T’would make sense that you have proven me wrong three times on this matter.”

“Three?” A’zaela asked, tilting her head. She dropped herself back to the ground, then motioned for him to sit as well. He was quick to follow.

“Well, the first was Norvrandt. After going a hundred years without seeing the stars, I doubt I’ll ever forget seeing them again for the first time. It certainly beat out Mor Dhona’s aether filled skies.”

G’raha fell silent for a moment, tilting his head back just as a breeze came through. Though A’zaela knew the breeze wasn’t real, that they weren’t truly in the Sagolii together, she let herself believe the illusion.

(She let herself believe that one day they could be here together. That one day she might be brave enough to slip her hand into his.)

“This…this is the second. I never saw and Ul’dahn night, though I read about them. Many people have written poetry about how clear the sky gets at night—particularly in the Sagolii. I believe I understand them, now.”

Once again, G’raha stopped speaking. After a few minutes, A’zaela’s curiosity got the best of her.

“And the third?” she prompted.

“Hm?”

“You said there were three times. Three times that I showed you a night sky.”

G’raha smiled. A’zaela’s heart jumped in her chest, and if she were awake, she had no doubt that her face would have flushed.

He held a finger up to his lips. “That isn’t quite what I said. I do believe I’ll keep the last one to myself.”

A’zaela pursed her lips. “More secrets?”

“I think you’ll understand why I kept this one.”

Tyr Beq, hidden carefully behind them, watched with glee as their tails curled around one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he didn't reference "stars". all he said was that she's shown him the most stunning thing he's seen. 
> 
> it was her, of course.


	18. panglossian (sfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's planting seeds in a garden that you never get to see grow.

XVIII. Panglossian.

“Soo…can I ask what all this is about?”

A’zaela startled. Her tail puffed out dramatically, emphasizing her shock. She whipped around to see the owner of the voice, and her shoulders dropped a fraction upon seeing who it was.

“Nothing too important,” she replied, shoving her hands back into the dirt to cover the hole she’d made.

Livvy Ahtynwyb moved in closer, her armor clinking together as she kneeled down beside A’zaela. Her eyes scanned over the tools the smaller warrior had gathered: A trowel, a small bottle of water, and an empty baggie.

“I didn’t know you liked gardening,” Ahtyn said. It was soft. She didn’t push A’zaela for an answer, despite clearly wanting to know.

A’zaela swallowed. A sign of guilt, perhaps.

“It’s not something I think about often,” she whispered.

Ahtyn was silent. A’zaela was silent. The latter finished patting the dirt and reached out for the bottle of water, undoing the top and sprinkling a bit on top of the soft soil.

“It’s a tree,” A’zaela finally confessed. She looked very small in that moment—shoulders brought in close, head down toward the ground. “I don’t know how to plant trees. I don’t even know if this will work. In fact, I know it won’t. The tree isn’t even from Eorzea. I just—”

More water fell onto the plant beneath her, but it wasn’t from the water bottle.

“I wanted something to remember it by. Norvrandt. Lakeland. For a moment, I thought…I thought that I had found a home. A permanent one.”

She had planted a single pinecone in the dirt outside of Revenant’s Toll in the hopes that one day, there might be a giant, violet tree for people to walk past.

Ahtyn reached out and put here arm around A’zaela’s shoulders. All A’zaela could do was lean into her and cry.

She would never see that tree grow.

But she was positive that it would, and that’s why she did it at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember that we once lived. 
> 
> oc belongs to @livvyplaysff on twitter. she is also doing ffxivwrite. please give her stuff a look. it's all fantastic.


	19. Where The Heart Is (sfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she still hasn't learned what a home is. but she's getting there.

XIX. Where The Heart Is. 

A’zaela didn’t have a house of her own. Since joining a free company close to seven years ago, she had lived in the company house comfortably. She was never truly a materialistic person, so she never had much to call her own—hence not needing something physical like a house to keep all of her belongings.

She was an adventurer. Everything she needed was carried on her back. That was simply how she’d learned to live.

But time changes everything, as it does. Her room in her company house grew unused, and she eventually let somebody else stay in it. A younger girl who needed the space far more than she did. And so A’zaela was left without a space for herself, which, after her time in Norvrandt, became somewhat exhausting.

Before the Crystarium and her room in the Pendants, A’zaela had never truly appreciated what it was like to have a space for herself. It all rounded back to her not keeping things for herself—not wanting to take up any more space that could be used for someone else.

That shifted when the Scions came home to Eorzea.

When G’raha came home.

They had a few options—but none of them could accommodate for a couple like themselves. Staying in the Dawn’s Respite left them in separate beds (something neither of them wanted). An inn room would eventually become far too pricey. And A’zaela’s free company room was overtaken by somebody else—not to mention the incessant teasing and knowing looks that would come from living in a community space with her fellow Riskbreakers.

So A’zaela did what she should have done a long time ago. She purchased herself an apartment.

Despite herself, she still couldn’t justify an entire house. She and G’raha were still adventurers, which would leave them out of the apartment a lot anyway. An apartment fit their current needs perfectly, and G’raha agreed.

And, as always after making such a large purchase, A’zaela began to regret her choice after she made it. Would they even make use of it? Would something like this ever feel like a home to her?

The one thing A’zaela had always wanted out of life was somewhere to rest her head, a place to call home. She had let herself believe that Norvrandt would be that place for her, but she had been wrong in the end. Would the same thing happen here, too? Would she be whisked away and left digging through the ashes once more?

She didn’t know. All throughout the day, she and G’raha spent moving furniture and making the small space livable. Meanwhile, A’zaela felt a rock of indecision settle in her gut.

It wasn’t until G’raha lifted her up and smiled cheekily up at her that A’zaela finally allowed herself to stop thinking.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and smiled back.

Maybe they wouldn’t be living here in a few months. Maybe they’d be far gone, off to another distant world, and they’d be filling another place up with furniture and memories.

Maybe home wasn’t a house at all. Maybe it was the taste of his lips before he threw her onto their new bed and covered her body with his.

And maybe, just maybe, she could live with that.


	20. milestone (nsfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "what if I wrote pegging"  
> and then I did

“You know…you’ve been working too hard lately,” A’zaela hummed. Her voice came from behind him, close up against his ear. The appendage twitched and flickered, lightly hitting her nose. Her face wrinkled, fending off a sneeze and a laugh.

“Have I?” G’raha asked. His voice was calm, but his heart was not. A’zaela heard it pick up in his chest, her acute hearing a blessing.

“You have,” she confirmed. She watched as he slowly placed his pen down on top of the paper he had been taking notes on. The rest of him remained stiff, only his head tilting in her direction. “How much would it take for me to get you to come to bed?”

As Exarch, it would have taken a bit of pushing and shoving. As G’raha Tia?

_Very little at all._

“Turn around, love.” 

G’raha finally turned around and looked at her. All at once, the world narrowed down to nothing but her and the skimpy little clothing she wore.

Lingerie. A’zaela had purchased lingerie.

For _him._

He felt heat rise to his cheeks, and for a very long minute, all he could do was sit and _stare._

A’zaela did not like showing off her body. As much as he loved it, loved her, he knew that she felt most comfortable when he could not see her fully. She preferred the darkness when they made love--with lit candles or seated beneath a fireplace. He could (and would, given the chance) make love with her in broad daylight, not caring what he saw, or _who_ saw.

But A’zaela was different. The times where she let him see her in full lighting, like this, were slim. He knew that this was a gift—a step outside of her comfort zone.

He would take this chance and he would _run_ with it.

The garment she had chosen for herself was a small, lacy thing. It cupped her breasts beautifully, covering most of her while also being sheer enough to show everything. Her nipples were visible, poking through, and a desperate part of him already wanted to mouth at them through the fabric—to see how she’d squirm under his tongue.

To make matters worse (better?)—the garment was _red._

She had chosen _his colors_ for _her lingerie._

The symbolism was not lost on him. She was marking herself as his.

If he got the chance tonight, he would make the symbolism real—marking her until her skin turned red, too, and bruised beneath his teeth.

…but judging by the rest of her outfit, she had other plans.

“How about this,” A’zaela purred, leaning over his desk to pick up his papers. She was careful, placing what he was working on off to the side and not overly disturbing his organization. She left herself a small little spot in the middle of his desk for her cute little butt, then she sat down in the middle of his desk, tilting her head to the side and smiling.

“If you want something to work on so badly, I’ll give you this.”

His gaze fell to between her legs. He recognized it immediately, his heart pounding and his cock hardening.

It was the same strap she’d used to fuck him when he was the Crystal Exarch.

This was all together a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. For as much as he had fallen in love with a woman, G’raha had never once before cared what his lover carried below the belt. He had bedded men, women, and people who identified as neither. He had enjoyed all experiences – and A’zaela had caught onto that fact.

She had reasoned that as much as he liked to fuck _her,_ he also loved being _fucked._

And right now, he _really_ wanted to be fucked.

“Go on,” she whispered. “Get it wet.”

G’raha was nothing if not eager. He pulled his chair forward and ducked his head between her legs, putting him seconds away from her cock. Meanwhile, his hands made their way up her thighs, finally settling against the round curve of her ass. He squeezed liberally, loving the way the strap-on harness fit her form.

G’raha placed a chaste kiss to her tip before taking it in his mouth. A’zaela hummed appreciatively, her fingers snaking through his hair. As she worked to take out his hairpins and braids, his tongue swirled over her, doing exactly as he was told to do. He was getting her _wet._ Once his hair cascaded around his shoulders, he began bobbing, and A’zaela’s fingers tightened in his hair.

Something inside of him preened.

“Good boy,” she said, sounding both sultry and a bit breathless. A’zaela had made her voyeur tendencies clear to him early on, but it was only now that he realized just how much she enjoyed it. It made her happy—it gave her confidence. She was thriving off of this, and he was melting.

Perhaps he shouldn’t be so overwhelmed with love while she was shoving her cock down his throat, but Goddess help him, he was. A’zaela trusted him enough to come out of her comfort zone like this, and even if the strap between his lips wasn’t giving her physical pleasure, she was clearly overjoyed.

“Feels so good, Raha,” she moaned, letting her head tilt back and her eyes close. “Do you like it? Feeling me hit the back of your throat? You’re doing so well, love.”

Her praise only pushed him further. He groaned around her length, showing her his appreciation. It was starting to become a small agony to not reach into his trousers and touch himself. Truthfully, she was working him up so much that he was beginning to fear that he might spill without ever being touched.

 _No,_ a firm part of him whispered. _I want her inside me. I_ need _her inside me tonight._

Almost as if sensing his thoughts, A’zaela tapped underneath his chin.

“Come up now, love. You did well. Stand up and lean over the desk for me. I want to give you your prize.”

G’raha pulled himself off of her cock, a line of spit connecting his lips to her. A’zaela smiled as he reached up to wipe his mouth, a fierce blush coating his cheeks.

She pushed herself off of the desk and moved to the side, watching him with that same eager smile as he shucked off his pants. His hands were shaking from anticipation, and he stumbled as he kicked them off to the side entirely.

Before leaning over the desk, he looked at her. She looked radiant in the full lighting of their bedroom. A Goddess among men—he couldn’t imagine how she had chosen _him_ to love like this. He wanted to say something to her, to tell her just how much he was enjoying himself—but there were simply no words.

For all of his years as a Scholar, a researcher, and a bard—G’raha Tia could conjure not a single word to describe how completely and utterly blessed he felt in that moment.

Except…

“Zaela,” he rasped, his voice rough from the work he did to her cock. He was out of practice with it. “I…”

Immediately, her brows shot up.

She closed the distance between them and placed her hand gently on his cheek. Her air of confidence was gone, consumed immediately by worry.

“Did I hurt you?” she whispered, thumb tracing across his jaw.

“No, no—nothing of the sort. I just…”

He looked into her eyes, wide and full of worry, and lets himself go.

“I want you to make love to me. On the bed, with the lights on. Can we do that?”

G’raha Tia would take being fucked over a desk any day, but this was different. A’zaela had gone out of her way to please _him,_ and Goddess help him, that felt so special. She had read him like a book and had conjured up a scenario just for him, coming out of her comfort zone and bearing herself to him in lingerie, while the lights were on, in the same color red of his hair.

As hard as he was, as turned on as he was, that felt like a milestone, and he wanted to make it special, too.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Are you sure you’re okay? We don’t have to do this—”

G’raha stopped her immediately. “Zaela, I have never wanted anything this much in my entire life. I want to see you when I come. That’s all.”

“Okay,” she said.

So A’zaela Linh took him by the hand and led him to the bed.

When she entered his body for the first time, G’raha saw white.

And after that, he didn’t stop eating her out until she came thrice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look, I am so sorry that I did not describe the Fuck as much as I wanted to, it is 2 AM and I am already behind, and also I think I got emotional by the end so it sort of ended up being fade to black
> 
> but they basically had big, stupid, flowery, missionary sex and g'raha came very hard 
> 
> thank you for reading!


	21. Foibles (sfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> let her sleep.

XXI. Foibles.

When A’zaela gets older, her insomnia gets flipped on its head.

Not entirely, really—it’s something she’s always struggled with and probably always will, but as time ages her, she finds that she nods off more in the middle of conversations than she used to. It’s a very small thing, and it doesn’t happen all the time. When it does, though, it’s typically because she’s happy.

It doesn’t take people long to figure this out.

Sairsel Arroway was the first to realize it. Which is a strange fact, considering that he spends most of his days in the woods and not with her. However, when he does come out of his reclusive state, A’zaela is typically among one of the first to know.

He notices over time. The two have a strange friendship, mostly built around a comfortable silence. They do not speak, but instead lean on one another for silent support. One evening, while Sairsel quietly chips away at making an arrow, A’zaela’s head knocks unceremoniously onto his shoulder, and he makes too deep of a nick into his wood.

He looks over at her, a brow raised, but doesn’t say anything. For she is sound asleep, and he would rather not bother her.

It happens two more times before he gains enough awareness to not break any more arrows in the process.

G’raha, of course, is the second one to notice. He is married to her, after all, and is most aware of her awful sleep cycle. It first happens to him when they are on the couch together, and he has his nose firmly lodged in a book. Sometimes while he read, she would press herself up to his free arm and stare into the fireplace. Sometimes she would read herself, but most of the time not. She was simply content to be near him.

One time, though, her head tilts a little too far to the side, and he feels something wet hit his arm. It takes him a minute to realize that she’s drooling, and that she’s fallen firmly asleep on his arm.

He should move, he reasons. She would be mortified to know that she drooled on him.

But he doesn’t. For she is fast asleep, and he would rather not bother her.

(A’zaela _is_ mortified when she wakes. Her lower lip pops out a little, and she pouts and her skin darkens in a blush. G’raha could not be more thrilled.)

The third person (but definitely not the last) is Ashelia Riot. Her free company leader and best friend.

Ashelia finds her and her two children all sleeping together on the floor, knocked out after a few hours of babysitting. Three hyran children and a miqo’te woman, passed out on the carpet.

Ashelia would have woken her up, but...

A’zaela is fast asleep, and she would rather not bother her.


	22. Argy-Bargy (sfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> only children.

XXII. Argy-Bargy.

“Oh my God.”

“Shut up!”

“You didn’t.”

“No!!”

“Zaela!”

“I didn’t even know we could do that!” she yelled. Then, she promptly threw her hands over her mouth, turning her entire body away from her brother.

A’sato’s entire face was lit up with a grin, and he was wheezing from laughter. “You _hissed_ at me, Zaela! I cannot believe you!”

“I didn’t know!” she whined. “I’ve never done it before!”

“Oh yes you have,” he retorted. “You’ve hissed _so_ many times, but never at _me!”_

“I don’t remember! I had no idea! Oh Goddess. I’m mortified.”

A’sato was slapping his leg, whooping and hollering. A’zaela reached over and grappled him, trying to get him to stop.

Of course, that was what got her to hiss at him in the first place—he wouldn’t stop _laughing!_

-

“Did you know miqo’te could hiss?” A’zaela asked pathetically later on, once she had returned to her home.

G’raha stalled in his step, looking up at her with both one brow up and one ear up.

“Yes,” he said tentatively. “It’s fairly rare, though. I don’t believe I’ve done it since I was a kit.”

A’zaela buried her face into the couch cushion.

 _Since he was a kit!_ She was mortified. Only miqo’te _children_ hissed at their family members, and she had done it at _thirty._

G’raha, who had gathered at this point why exactly she had asked him this question, was trying very hard not to smile.

Later, he would get on the couch with her and tickle her until she hissed at _him,_ too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a little late and it's a little short, but I think I like it. I like miqo'te headcanons.


	23. Shuffle (sfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A'zaela has a hidden talent.

XXIII. Shuffle. 

“Miss Linh, I do so hate to disturb you, but…we have a request to make.”

A’zaela, who had only decided to come to the Golden Saucer today to check and see if any new Triple Triad cards had come out, glanced up at the saucer attendant.

“Of course,” she said, not one to turn down a quest—especially not to the employees here. She knew them all fairly well by now, and they only ever asked if something if they had something new to show her, or if there was something really wrong.

“Here’s the skinny,” the attendant spoke, instantly going into gossip mode. He leaned over the counter and pointed at the triple triad tables inconspicuously, trying to get her to look without being obvious. “We had a new face come in recently. Another rich Ul’dahn whelp with a gambling problem. He took a liking to Triple Triad, yeah? Here’s the problem; he’s been lucky. Too lucky, if you know what I mean.”

A’zaela pressed her lips together. “He’ll only play No Open, won’t he?”

“Absolutely. He won’t go into tournaments, so we can’t look at his hand before he goes after opponents. He’s been going after all of the newer Triad players and beating them into the ground so they won’t want to keep playing. You know where I’m going with this, right?”

“I have an idea,” A’zaela nods.

“I’ll give you a platinum card for your trouble.”

“No need. It’s my pleasure.”

-

“Plus.”

“Ye’ve got to be shittin’ me—”

A’zaela looked up at him, her face neutral. She flipped over three of his cards. She said nothing.

“’Ow in the hells can you match me with a bloody one-star deck?” he hissed. The man’s face was turning a bright shade of red and sweat dripped down the sides of his face. A’zaela didn’t take much pleasure in seeing anybody this way—even this man, who had clearly tried to cheat.

But A’zaela knew Triple Triad. She wasn’t a tournament champion for nothing.

“Sudden Death,” she called, picking up all of the cards and shuffling them. She gave him his hand, then took her own.

He was right about one thing. She had chosen her one-star deck. She was certified to use a 3-star deck and one 5 star card, but she thought that insult to injury would be best here. Back when the card game had first come out, she had bested King Elmer III with only her 1-star deck as well. It was how she had gotten her bahamut card. In fact, she didn’t think she could beat Elmer today without it.

She much preferred her 3-star deck, but sometimes it was best to keep things practical.

“Plus,” A’zaela said again, flipping over two more cards. “Sudden Death.”

“No, I don’t want to play any—”

“But we wagered,” A’zaela simpered. “You can’t leave the table now.”

“Sod this, you’re cheatin’! I ain’t never seen Triad played this way before.”

“Most people don’t understand Plus rules,” A’zaela acknowledged. “It’s okay. In fact, everything here has been fair. I simply know how to keep a game going into multiple Sudden Death rounds.”

_We could be here all day if I really wanted to be. Which I really, really don’t._

A’zaela shuffled the deck. Handed him his cards, taking her own.

“I mean, the only thing that hasn’t been fair are the multiple cards up your sleeves. Your Squall Leonhart card isn’t as impressive as you think it is, by the way. Anyone who played even the smallest amount of Triad when it came out has that one. Bahamut, too. Terra Branford is a good one, but, wait…Triad rules only permit one 5 star card in a hand. And I didn’t put one in. So it’s funny how more than one popped up during our game, isn’t it?”

“Very strange,” the Saucer employee hummed.

“Cheating isn’t really allowed in the saucer, is it?” A’zaela asked. She placed another card down. “Plus.”

“Fuck,” the man whispered.

“It’ll get you banned, yes.”

“Plus,” A’zaela said, flipping over two more cards. “I win.”

“Would you please come with me, sir?” the attendant asked, urging the red-faced bloke up out of his seat.

“Just who are you?!” the man spat. “Why do you know so bloody much about _cards?!”_

A’zaela picked up her cards and shuffled them back into her deck. She shrugged once, deciding not to reply as he was dragged away.

A’zaela had won five triple triad tournaments.

She hadn’t lost yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> she's lost a few times, but the last line was for dramatic effect.
> 
> basically all of this is to say; a'zaela likes triple triad, LOL.


	24. Beam (sfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've never written a poem before in my life.

_XXIV. Beam._

_Little sunbeam that you are,_

_Parting the clouds,_

_Showing me the way._

_A sign of life,_

_Of renewal,_

_Of triumph and song._

_Together we make our way through the world,_

_You always by my side._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A'zaela, though. sometimes she writes poetry.


	25. Wish (nsfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> linkpearl sex.

XXV. Wish.

“I wish you were here,” G’raha said into their shared linkpearl. A’zaela’s ear—the one that held the pearl—perked up. She opened her mouth to reply, but quickly shut it. She was in the middle of a meeting—a particularly important free company meeting--and speaking out of turn wasn’t something she could do right now.

She eased her ear back down, but a small frown appeared on her lips. She didn’t like ignoring G’raha. He tended to worry just as much as she did when it came down to the other not replying. They both lived fairly dangerous lives, and a missed call could mean—

“There’s no need to reply, love. I know you’re busy. I just—ah—was missing you.”

A’zaela’s thoughts calmed instantly upon hearing that. She was so relieved that she almost didn’t notice the soft hitch in his breath near the end of his sentence.

Almost.

“I’ve been keeping busy myself,” he admitted, and A’zaela’s world narrowed onto the sounds coming from her linkpearl.

It was subtle. It was his breathing, that caught softly in his throat when he spoke. It was the way the sheets of the bed shifted almost imperceptibly beneath him. It was the sound of something wet, slick, and _slow…_

“Zaela,” he whispered, and suddenly she had to cross her legs. Azeyma help her, he was being _mean._ Her head felt empty, all thoughts of this meeting gone, replaced with _him._ She tried to focus, eyes locked on the speaker in front of her.

“Let me know if I should cease,” Raha said softly. “Tap the pearl twice for no. Once to keep going.”

Heat bloomed across her cheeks, spreading across her chest and boiling between her thighs. Anyone here with above-average hearing might be able to hear him. A’zaela didn’t like doing things in public—if anybody caught her here, listening to her lover when she should be paying attention, she might just choose death as an alternative to coming back to another meeting.

A’zaela reached up and tapped her linkpearl once.

Because truly, she wished for nothing more than to be with him right now, too. Gods damn her for her negligence and impropriety—and she had no doubt that she’d be paying for it later—but she suddenly wanted to be anywhere but where she was.

“I’m on our bed,” Raha said, a pleasant note in his voice. He wouldn’t have been too upset should she had stopped him, but he was overjoyed that she had given him permission. “I was remembering the night before, and I, ah…couldn’t stop myself. Are you still hiding the marks, I wonder?”

She was. A’zaela absentmindedly reached up to touch one left on the nape of her neck; hidden by her hair, which she’d purposefully left down today. The tender bruise sent another shot of heat through her.

She wanted to be there with him. Right now. She could _hear_ the way he stroked himself, no doubt a mixture of lube and pre-cum to make the pearl pick up the noise. G’raha was smart; of course he’d think of something like this to tease her. She wished that it was her hand on his length, edging him toward completion.

What was this meeting about, again?

“I want to make love,” he said, his voice naught but a quivering whisper. He was close. How long had he been touching himself without her? Was he edging himself, waiting for her to return? G’raha loved edging. Especially her, to turn her into a right and proper mess after a long day.

“I keep imagining you on top of me. Instead of my hand, it’s your cunt sinking down on me. I want to reach out and touch you, to fan my hand over your breast. I won’t…last long, with how far I’ve taken myself. I’d cum in you, marking you as mine once more. _Mine, Zaela.”_

_Fuck._

“Then…I’d beg you to sit on my face. A reward, for taking me so well. Of course, ‘tis a reward for me as well. What I wouldn’t do to find myself between your legs, again and again. You taste sweet, but you’d be even sweeter with our release combined. Can you imagine the pleasure, Zaela?”

She could. Her mind was buzzing, lost in the picture he had painted for her. She wanted him, she wanted him, _she wanted—_

“Should I cum now, Zaela?” he asked, breathing hard. He was trying to pace himself. She could imagine it—the sweat making his hair cling to his face, his finger swiping over the head of his cock, stimulating it, but not enough to release. “You know the drill. Once for yes. Two for no.”

A’zaela didn’t know. The thought of him, splayed out on their bed, cum painting his stomach and chest was one she wanted to cherish. However, cumming too soon would leave none of the fun for her…

“Or…tap three times if your meeting will be over soon. Then I’ll know to wait for you. I’ll save myself as long as it takes for you to get here.”

She didn’t even fucking hesitate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> three times.


	26. When Pigs Fly (nsfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> well.

XXVI. When Pigs Fly.

A’zaela lost track of time. She didn’t know how long it took to get back to their apartment, but it felt like ages. It was long – too long. It was this time, more than any other, that she despised the fact that she couldn’t teleport.

Worse, even was when she fumbled with the keys to unlock the door. Her hands were trembling from excitement. She almost felt _silly_ over how excited she was.

Once she was inside, though, that feeling disappeared.

She locked the door again behind her.

All at once, A’zaela was struck by how beautiful he was. He had arranged himself on their bed perfectly, all to put on a show for her, despite her not being there. He tilted his head to look at her, hair cascading around the pillows and down his shoulder. His hand worked lazily on his cock, almost as if it was an afterthought in her presence.

“Zaela,” he moaned.

“Raha,” she whispered, kicking her shoes off before crossing the room and closing the rift between them, capturing his lips in a kiss.

He tasted like salvation. Warm and impossibly soft, needy from how long he spent working himself in her absence. He urged her mouth open with his tongue near immediately, desperate for more of her. Meanwhile, she climbed onto the bed properly, straddling his waist between her knees.

“Missed you so much,” he panted while palming at her clothes. Her shirt came off first, breaking their kiss for far too long. Then, his hands found the button of her pants, deft fingers working them open and down past her bottom.

“I was only gone for a day,” she said, helping him work the pants down and off of her. Her hair fell over her shoulders, making curtains around her face, framing it perfectly as she smiled down at him.

G’raha put his hand on her side, then flipped them. A’zaela hit the bed, and before she knew it, Raha had her pants off and his fingers sliding over the damp spot on her underwear, grinning softly.

“Too long,” he said, nuzzling against her neck. “I spent hundreds of years without you. Even a second more is too long.”

G’raha spent some time like that, rubbing her slit while her panties yet covered her, using his mouth to tease the softness of her throat. It was agonizing, and the fire in her stomach began to build even more—hot and furious. After what he put her through, she couldn’t stand any more teasing.

“I thought you wanted me to ride you,” she said, her hand coming up to rest on his cheek. He turned his face and kissed her palm, giving a teasing lick.

“I was marveling over how wet you are. Wondering how far I could have driven you with just my voice. Does it effect you that much, love?”

 _Yes,_ she thought, but she couldn’t rightly say that. Not now, when he was preening so. A’zaela was feeling stubborn after all he’d done today.

“Raha,” A’zaela said, her voice soft. Demanding. “Get on your back. I want you to keep your promises. I want you to fuck me until neither of us can walk.”

“ _Yes,”_ he breathed, before doing exactly as she told. Before straddling him again, A’zaela unhooked her bra and discarded her panties, tossing them to Gods know where.

Once on top of him, she allowed herself a single moment to look down at him. Even so thoroughly debauched, G’raha kept some manner of dignity, flashing her the most beautiful of smiles as he grabbed her hips. She leaned down over him, grasping his length in her hand watching as his eyes fluttered and his mouth opened around soft moans.

She moved his cock over her slit, starting from her clit all the way down to her entrance. His fingers tightened their grip, and his hips rocked up into her. Eager as she was, she wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. She would tease him more, except—

She was so wet, and he was so eager, that when he bucked his hips, the head of his cock slipped in, and A’zaela couldn’t hold back any longer. She sank down on him fully, a cry falling from her lips as he hilted.

It was that moment that G’raha lost control.

A’zaela moved her hips up, and he moved her back _down,_ slamming up into her with a force that might have been painful, if she hadn’t already been completely ready for him. She had told him to fuck her, and she’d meant it. She was on top, but she was doing hardly any work at all, with him thrusting and moving her hips in perfect time. The rush of it made her see stars—she was bent over him, her tits pushed tight against his upper chest, stimulating her in a perfectly peculiar way.

“Yes,” G’raha moaned, completely lost to his passions. “So good, so good for me. I’m—I’m going to cum—”

She felt it. Warmth spilled inside of her, and satisfaction bloomed through her body. It was exactly as he’d described to her—exactly as she wanted. She didn’t want him to last long. She wanted him to cum, so that she could sit on his face and be brought to completion by his tongue, like he’d promised.

G’raha, despite the afterglow and the onset of exhaustion that always came to him post-orgasm, looked more than eager. He hadn’t forgotten his promise, either. He squeezed her ass and urged her up, up, so that he could wrap his arms around her thighs and finish what he’d started. A’zaela gripped the headboard for dear life the second his tongue met her clit. The pleasure he gave her was white hot and blinding, and she couldn’t help but rock her hips in time with his ministrations.

“Oh, oh—yes! _Please,_ Raha, right there. You’re doing so well, it feels so good. Please, please…!”

She might’ve been embarrassed. This was the messiest, sloppiest sex they’d ever had, and yet, despite it all, she didn’t care. It made her feel good. It made _him_ feel good. They’d have to wash the sheets, but she would pay any price at all if it meant she would see him smile like that again—so completely and utterly lost to his own passions. Needing, wanting for her and only her.

A’zaela came with a shout. She had very little doubt that the neighbors would hear it, but Goddess help her, she didn’t care. For a time, all she could do was breathe, her nails digging into the headboard, her lover still smothered between her thighs.

When finally she climbed back down, A’zaela was the one to get up and fetch a cloth. It was a bit too late for their sheets, but at least he could clean his face. He thanked her, then pulled her back down for more.

The fact that he wasn’t finished with her yet was more than enough to get her going again.

“I meant it when I said I missed you,” he said between kisses. “I very well can go days without you, and yet…I’d prefer not to.”

“I feel much the same,” A’zaela said. She reached up and touched his face, letting her thumb run over his cheek.

(For once, she didn’t remember the sensation of crystal as she touched him there. She didn’t even think about it.)

It was for that reason, then, why G’raha leaned in forward and pressed a kiss against her cheek.

“A’zaela?” he asked softly. “My light. My heart. Will you marry me?”

A’zaela’s heart stopped.

She opened her mouth and said…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "...Yes." 
> 
> What? Did you really think I'd end this with "When Pigs Fly?"


	27. Foodstuffs (sfw) (free day)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is just me rambling about a'zaela's backstory in regards to food. g'raha cameo at the end.

XXVII. Foodstuffs.

A’zaela had grown up poor. Not in the typical sense, but poor, nonetheless. At this point in her life, she considered herself having two different lives. One of them before her amnesia, and the other after. In the first term of her life, she had lived comfortably. As a child of the current Nunh, she never really went without food or water. She was privileged on that front, at least.

When she had escaped her tribe, however, things were different.

The people of Gridania did not like her. Most refused to so much as look at her. Wherever she walked, she would hear whisperings of the Elementals, and how said Elementals did not like the fact that she survived. The woman that had taken her back from the brink of death was just as quick to kick her out of her home, not wanting to be associated with her at all.

A’zaela did not understand it. She does not understand it to this day. However, back then, she had far more things to worry about. The first being that she did not even know her own name.

Wood Wailers dogged her every step in the forest. To them, a miqo’te hunting in the Gridanian forests was a bad sign, so they followed her, foiling any attempt she might have made at hunting. They had full reason to be following her (or so they said to her at the time), but the fact that she was a Seeker made things more complicated. Typical Gridanians hated Keepers, not Seekers—but it seems the prejudice extended to her all the same.

But A’zaela didn’t know any of this. She was alone, no memory of her name or her people, her stomach empty and crying for food. She didn’t even have a weapon to defend herself. The Wailers didn’t care—they targeted her because of her race, and they never really let go.

She knows, now, that she got lucky. So, incredibly lucky. The wailers dragged her limp, starving body into Gridania proper, going to bring her to the First Bowman, or any one of the guilds to pass judgement on her for disturbing the elementals. Except they never made it that far.

Mother Miounne spotted them from afar and stopped them. In her half delirious state, A’zaela could remember staring up at her, eyes blurry, thinking that she was looking at a Goddess. The elezen woman railed into the Wailers for their negligence, taking A’zaela into her arms herself and half-carrying her back to The Carline Canopy.

It was the first time in her new life that A’zaela felt the warm embrace of a mother. It was also, probably, her last.

Miounne gave her some food and water but was quick to urge A’zaela towards the Adventurer’s Guild. Toward any guild in Gridania, really. She needed to fend for herself—and Miounne couldn’t give her handouts forever.

A’zaela chose the lancer’s guild, and she never once came back to the Carline Canopy during her defining years. Now, she and Mother Miounne are very good friends, but back then A’zaela was still far too small, and far too scared to accept help from the people that had scorned her so.

She lived hand-to-mouth. It was the only way she knew how. She was good at it, though being _good_ at barely existing was troubling in and of itself. This wouldn’t change for years. A’zaela spent most of her time hidden away in the Shroud, in the forests of the people who hated her, training with the lance and dodging Wailers.

The truth was simple. Until she had a name, A’zaela couldn’t do anything. Miounne required one to be allowed into the guild. The guildmaster of the lancer’s guild required one. The fact that he gave her a lance—a _weapon_ —at all was a miracle.

A’zaela had no answers to give them at that time. She was quiet back then, even more than she is now. She had no name, no heart, and nothing to give them. Making up a fake name—just the idea of it made her physically ill.

The reason she couldn’t give them a fake name was because back then, A’zaela spent her nights hunched over in the bed of leaves that she made for herself, begging any God that would listen to remember. Her head hurt so badly that it felt like it would split open. Tears would spill, but she couldn’t make a sound. She couldn’t risk grabbing attention. She would cry as silently as she could, then she would pray to a God she couldn’t remember to help her.

Until she remembered her name, she was nothing. She had nothing. That’s the moral of this story.

She remembered her name during battle. It was the most painful experience of her life—like being cracked over the head once more. She saw white for a few brief moments, the pain blinding—

\----

-za

A’z---

\--la

_A’z—la_

_A’zaela!_

\--

Purchasing passage to Ul’dah was the hardest thing she had ever done. It was 120 gil.

120 gil was her life savings.

In Ul’dah, things were…not better, at first. She was skittish, and there were so many people milling about. A’zaela had no gil in her pockets, and surely, she didn’t belong in a place known as the city of gold. Miounne had pointed her in the right direction, telling her to go find Momodi Modi, but…

Admittedly, the first few nights she spent in the slums of Ul’dah, lucky to have made it inside the city at all, but unfortunate enough to have not yet found her voice. She stuck herself back in the darkest corner, sleeping in intervals, praying the next day would be better.

(Praying. She always prayed, and to who? She didn’t know the names of the Gods at that point.)

She was hiding in the goldsmithing guild when her life changed.

A man—a tall, terrifying looking man—lightly rested his hand on her shoulder, and she almost jumped out of her skin.

 _“Forgive me. My intention was not to scare you.”_ Resting in his hand was a flyer, which he held out to her. _“I wanted to show you this. My Free Company is hosting a party tonight for Moonfire Faire. Plenty of food and drink to go around.”_

A’zaela looked down at the poster.

She couldn’t read.

…

She took it anyway.

It was the first time she had ever taken somebody’s advice. She had been too scared of Miounne. She never felt safe enough to speak with her guild leader. Her voice was a candle flickering in the wind inside both Ul’dah and Gridania—

All until that man spoke to her.

His name was Ludo Swiftwind, and though her future meetings with him were far and few in between, she had no doubt that he had saved her life that night. So did his current partner, Ashelia Riot. The woman who changed A’zaela life permanently. A’zaela walked into the Riskbreaker’s home and never really walked out again. Much like a stray cat who had finally chosen someone as it’s person.

Truthfully, back then, the Riskbreakers had a mansion, but not much else. It took work to get them to where they are today. However, A’zaela never went hungry again. There was never a time where she and Ashelia didn’t have any water to share. A’zaela remembered crying over that concept alone.

It took A’zaela a long time to realize that she could like eating food. That people had preferences. Ashelia, for example, spiced all of her food to sometimes dangerous levels. A’zaela had never tasted _spice_ before, and though tears sprung to her eyes upon eating any stew Ashelia cooked, she powered through it, knowing that she would never waste even a single drop. She even eventually came to like it.

It tasted a lot like home.

Now, A’zaela has all sorts of preferences. She doesn’t really love sweet things. She’ll indulge every once in a while (like cotton candy during Moonfire) or a piece of chocolate (bought by her current paramour), but it never really crosses her mind to buy sweets for herself. She loves savory things, spicy things. The only food she can’t stomach is raw fish. She tries and tries, but it always makes her sick.

Sometimes, now, when she sits across the table from the man she loves, she’ll remember those times when she didn’t have any food. She’ll watch him scarf down a take-out meal, or something he prepared for the both of them, and she’ll just…smile.

(It makes sense that he won her heart with a sandwich.)

A’zaela would send up a prayer to Azeyma, the God she had been praying to all of this time, and thank her for everything she had done to lead her toward her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why did i write 1400 words about my catgirl starving on september 29th.   
> sometimes u need angst, ok!


	28. Irenic (sfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 28: A legendary weapon in the making.

XXVIII. Irenic. 

A’zaela herself is a lance aimed at peace. She doesn’t love her role—doesn’t love being the weapon that strikes down her foes. But it is what she has always done, and what she will always do. She fights for those who cannot.

So long as she can hold her lance, she will fight. This she promised to herself, long ago when she was still sleeping in the slums of Ul’dah.

Her free company. The Scions. Everyone she has allied with—all sharing that same, strange word. _Irenic._

Strange though it was, she liked the word.

So when one day, she was gifted with a lance named _Irenic,_ all she could do was smile.


	29. Paternal (sfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> baby.

XXIX. Paternal.

It took A’zaela a very long time to consider the idea of having a child. She could give so many reasons as to not have a child in her twenties, but truthfully, the idea of it simply scared her— _pain_ scared her. Giving birth was a source of terror to her, not to mention the rest of her life being reserved for her child. When she first promised herself to G’raha, she wasn’t ready for that. She didn’t ever think she would be ready. 

If she ever was ready, she would adopt. There were many kids who had lost their parents in various wars around the world. She would take one on, if she could.

G’raha was different, though. He was amazing with kids. She noticed it back when he was still the Exarch—he was patient and kind. Back then, though, he had a mask to wear, and he never had the chance to remove it, even with children. She saw it, though. It filled her with a feeling she had never known before. Something soft and warm, and all together new. It was when he came back to the Source that that part of him really started to shine through. 

The Doman kids took to him instantly. In between Scion and adventuring duties, they would seek him out, and drag him around Mor Dhona on their own mini adventures. A’zaela would catch him playing tag, hide and seek, and jump rope all around the aetheryte plaza. He knew when to be gentle and kind, but also when to be firm with them. A’zaela kept her distance during those adventures of his, though every once in a while, they would see her and grab her, too.

_He has natural paternal instincts_ , someone once said to her. She couldn’t recall who, now, because after the words were spoken, her mind drew a giant blank. She was filled with static and embarrassment. Because she was thinking about it. A lot. 

He would make a good father. An excellent one. 

But A’zaela didn’t know if she wanted children. She didn’t know if she could be the one to give him that gift. 

She didn’t even know if he wanted a family like that. She curled into herself, silently removing herself from the scene. 

In that moment, A’zaela had felt like she failed him. As a lover and a friend. She should at least know what he expected out of their future together—but she was too afraid to ask. Too afraid to set up those expectations when she was still fighting every day and risking her life. 

G’raha was paternal by nature, but A’zaela wasn’t maternal. She agonized over it for days, wondering if _this_ of all things would be the reason that they separate. Her fear and inability to communicate over whether or not she was ready to be a mother.

She was getting ahead of herself, bottling up her fears and then drinking them down at night like an aged wine. She was tired and scared, and... 

...and it didn’t matter, because she got pregnant years later, when she finally allowed herself to settle down. 

Back then, A’zaela couldn’t see an end to the fighting. It wasn’t in her capacity to do so. But time went on, and G’raha never left her. Even after she admitted that she may never want a child. 

He told her that the only thing he ever wanted from her was her trust and her heart. And she gave them both to him readily. 

And though she had wanted to adopt back then, life never went in the direction she thought it might. One day, A’zaela woke up too sick to move, and when they called in a healer, they found two masses of Aether within her. Not just one. 

G’raha cried. He held it in until the healer left, but once they were gone, he gathered A’zaela up into his arms and wept. 

After he locked himself away inside of the tower, he knew that this was not something he could ever have. A family. A lover. A child. He had raised Lyna, yes, and he considered her his child as much as any—but this...this life growing inside of his wife, he never thought that he’d have that. 

They held each other closely that night. G’raha felt like he might never want to let her go. 

Nine months later, A’zaela gave birth to a baby girl. They had decided on a name together —

“Poppy,” G’raha had said. A’zaela’s eyes widened. 

“I love that name,” she had whispered. “How did you know?” 

G’raha had pressed his forehead against hers. 

“Father’s intuition.” 

“I don’t think that’s real,” A’zaela teased.

It wasn’t. It didn’t matter. He crawled into bed with her, placing his arm around her now empty belly, watching both her and the kit on her chest. New, tiny rounded ears twitched atop of Poppy’s head as she kneaded softly at A’zaela’s breast.

She was so tiny. She wasn’t what either of them expected. They couldn’t tell much yet, but it was clear that Poppy had taken after her mother. Hardly any red in sight—only a black tuft of hair around her ears and tail.

G’raha wondered if she would bear the Eye as he once had. If the curse would continue with his spawn.

It didn’t matter. He would treat her better than his tribe had. His daughter—any child of G’raha Tia’s would never know the pain he had felt as a child.

When Poppy opened her eyes fully weeks later to reveal one ruby red eye, both A’zaela and G’raha openly wept together. Not from sadness, no...from knowing that their legacy would continue, and that this new chapter of their lives was bound to something important. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a concept for Poppy long before I started shipping A'zaela with G'raha, funnily enough. She always was heterochromatic, so...the Allagan eye fit, haha. 
> 
> We're almost done here, guys. Thanks so much for getting this far. I'm overjoyed that we made it here together, and that we have some more people along for the ride in the future. 
> 
> Have a great day. Pet your dog for me. Remember that you and your emotions are important.


	30. Splinter (sfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some things still haunt them both. 
> 
> massive 5.3 spoilers.

XXX: Splinter.

There is no way to explain what the sound of crystal cracking does to her. Whenever she tries, she fails.

It’s a unique sound, so she doesn’t have to hear it often. The chance of it happening is only high when she stays in Mor Dhona during a thunderstorm. She’s safe, mostly.

Except in her dreams, where she is never safe. She hears it again years after it’s happened, sharp and shattering in her ears. She remembers it as though she’s living through the memory again. For someone who has lived her life with an awful memory, seeing one so clear before her eyes is terrifying.

A’zaela watched, again, as Elidibus sent a shot through his body. That sound never left her either. It’s what started this irrational fear of hers.

She watched as crystal climbed up his body. His legs being engulfed in it, then his robes, and his once-spoken hand. It climbs up his jaw, and her vision blurs, tears marring her vision.

The worst part of it all was the _sounds._ Crawling, creaking, splintering.

She used to love gems. Crystals.

Now her hands shake when she touches them.

Back on the Source, G’raha understands what his actions have done to her. He knows he has made mistakes regarding her, but he will do anything in his power to make it right.

Sometimes, making it right is simply listening to her. A’zaela is a quiet, thoughtful soul, but it isn’t often when she lets herself speak without barriers thrown up. She’s used to bottling things up, and he’s used to extracting secrets from things.

It works, somehow.

At night, when they’re finally alone after a long day, they both pile onto the bed together. Most of the time, especially during their first few months, they spend those nights inside one another, the only thing important was being closer, _closer._ They had wasted so much time apart, and both felt the need to make up for that. Eventually, though, their lust simmered down, and they spend those nights clothed, just talking to one another. Face-to-face, on their sides, G’raha on the right of the bed and A’zaela on the left.

They spoke of many things—from the day’s lunch to the pomp of Ishgardian clothing. The most important things, though, were the days when A’zaela or G’raha finally let down another wall and allowed themselves to speak freely about what was bothering them. Both of them had their issues. That was the way of life. What mattered most was when they talked about the problem instead of letting it fester and burn them.

And though she had told him about it fairly soon after he had left the tower, A’zaela was never quite able to move past her grief regarding the Exarch. G’raha was here, he was safe—but A’zaela was made a different person from his sacrifice at the top of the tower. That was undeniable.

One night, when he crawled into bed and turned on his side to face her, G’raha realized instantly that something was wrong.

He brought his hand up and lightly touched her cheek. He didn’t need to say anything. She knew he was waiting for her to talk.

“I miss goldsmithing,” she whispered weakly.

She hadn’t brought out her tools since…

“We can always make the time,” G’raha offered. She shook her head.

“I’m too scared to touch them. I don’t want to hear the noise they make.”

G’raha’s ear twitched, flitting back against his head. Despite the name goldsmith, A’zaela always worked with…crystal. Back when she worked diligently for the Crystalline Mean, her specialty had been…

Bluespirit ore.

Ore taken from the tower.

G’raha fell silent. Another mistake he’d made regarding her. He tried so, so hard not to blame himself, but who else was there to blame? It was he who took her friends from the Source. He who forced her to fight for Norvrandt.

He who had scared her so badly that she couldn’t think about picking up her goldsmithing tools.

He moved forward, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close. A’zaela’s hands curled into his shirt, and she buried her face in his chest. He felt her breath catch, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he pressed his mouth against the top of her head.

It had taken her a lot to admit that to him. He knew that. He wondered how long she had been holding it in. How long had this fear overtaken her?

“Well. We can’t have that, can we?” he asked rhetorically. “I won’t let you stop doing what you love over this, you know.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I don’t want to stop. I just don’t know how to start again.”

“Tell me what goes through your head when you think about picking up the tools.”

He wanted to hear her talk. That’s what this hour was reserved for—just the two of them, talking about anything they needed to. And this was something A’zaela needed to talk about.

“I’m scared that I won’t like it anymore. That if my hammer slips and I crack open a gemstone, I’ll hear…something I don’t ever want to hear again.”

G’raha closed his eyes. “I doubt anything could sound as specific as that, but…I understand. Would you feel better if I was beside you when you tried?”

A’zaela’s fingers tightened in his shirt. She nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “Tomorrow we’ll try.”

She was quiet again for a long minute. Quiet enough to where he fooled himself into thinking that she had gone to sleep.

“Thank you,” she said.

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” he said. “I’ve not done much yet.”

“You listened. That was enough.”

“Hah.”

“Raha?”

“Yes?”

“It isn’t your fault, you know.”

His eyes fell shut again. He heard the _cracking_ of crystal behind his ears.

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> G'raha doesn't like crystal anymore, either. 
> 
> just a small headcanon about how their relationship works, and how they feel about the tower. there was a lot I feel I couldn't fit in this chapter, but here are some side notes:
> 
> -A'zaela is scared to go into the crystal tower now. She is also scared to go to Norvrandt, (and to hear people talking about the Exarch's statue) but she does it for Lyna, Ryne and Gaia.   
> -G'raha doesn't go to the tower unless he needs to. Much of his time is spent far, far away from it.   
> -They both just like being close to one another, which is why I felt the need to put that in this chapter. I love writing them having sex, but relationships aren't always about that. Sometimes they both just want to be held.  
> -Yes sometimes G'raha is the little spoon and he loves it.   
> -A'zaela will pick up goldsmithing again. She's the one that makes their engagement/wedding rings. She just needs a little encouragement. Miqo'te ears are sensitive, so the sound of him being crystallized/cracking crystal as he moved around is a point of trauma for her.   
> -I'm not sure if it's confirmed that bluespirit ore was material from the Crystal Tower, but it looks like it, and Peeled Crystal Tower is a concept that is hilarious to me. I will cling to it.   
> -G'raha, much as he was as Exarch, spends a lot of time filled with self-doubt, and isn't nice to himself. These night sessions with A'zaela helps him a lot in finding his self-worth. Talking about his fears and having someone else make sense of them has a good influence on them both.  
> (This doesn't mean to use your partner as a therapist. That's not what they are. But it is good to talk over feelings and make sure everyone is apprised of the situation. There is a difference. It is never my intention to portray an unhealthy relationship -- I've been in them. That's not what I want to reflect my writing off of.) 
> 
> We made it through 30 chapters, y'all. Thanks so much for reading. This has been so much fun for me, and I hope it was for you. Have a wonderful October, gang.


End file.
